


The Meanings of Lost

by Willow (WillowLindsayFics)



Category: Wonder Woman (1976), Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family, Gen, POV, POV Alternating, POV First Person, daughter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 35,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24316744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowLindsayFics/pseuds/Willow
Summary: The first year after Steve Trevor's death was a blur for Diana Prince. When Bruce Wayne discovers a young girl, seemingly frozen in time with an uncanny resemblance to her lost love, Diana begins to question her memories. Is Batman's urchin really her daughter, or a product of a wild and wistful imagination? How do you heal and move on after a loss? Does happiness even exist in the lives of heroes? Or are they destined to always lose what they love? Follow Wonder Woman, Diana Prince, as she tries to uncover the truths in a London ridden with chaos and lies.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before reading The Meanings of Lost, I'd like everyone to know that while this is mostly based off of the DCEU movies (Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice, Wonder Woman, and Justice League), I will also be including elements from the 1970s TV show with Lynda Carter as well as the novel Wonder Woman: Warbringer by Leigh Bardugo and some of the ancient mythology surrounding the Amazons. So while there may be a few things here and there that aren't consistent with the mythology of the film series, my aim is to make the story consistent with itself as well as to create a unique fanfiction using other elements surrounding the character that might not be DC canon. I'm hoping this will give an intricate three-dimensions to the Amazons.

**Bruce:**

London. London. I, Bruce Wayne, sit on a bench on the sidewalk. London, London. Somehow, this is my first time here. The houses are uninformed, the buses are red. Such repulsing facts that surrounded Diana's life. But I'm _here_. I know I have to be. For her sake, and maybe for mine.

The old photograph Lex Luther had stolen is still clear in my mind. The people, their faces dead serious, as was the trend at the time, standing in front of a fallen building. All the men were now dead. The woman, dressed in godly armour and carrying an ancient sword, is still alive. Over fifty years later and she never aged a day. Her vibrant raven hair, her Amazonian accent that makes words roll off her tongue in an attractive, nearly seductive way. Diana Prince. The Wonder Woman.

She was supposed to meet me here in the park. It is not much of a park though, trapped between two bustling streets and with roughly a kilometre of paths in all directions. It is practically deserted except for the city pigeons bobbing their heads in hopes of bread crumbs and the grey squirrels that chatter and chase each other throughout the dozens of trees.

The crisp Autumn wind blows through my thick brown hair. I brush it back into place. It must look good when Diana arrives. I look down at my silver watch, the best money can buy. It was half-past noon. Diana is late.

Suddenly a noise isolates itself from the traffic and the wildlife. The familiar click-clack of a woman's heels. It has to be her! I fix my hair. Do I look okay? I should have brought a mirror. The footsteps approach. Through the trees, I can see a familiar figure and the long, wavy raven hair spiralling behind her in the wind. Just like when she had appeared on the battlefield all that time ago, when I, Batman, was pitted against the alien Superman. She had been breathtaking then and was so now.

The figure is closer, but it is small. Too small to be Diana. The figure is has a slight slouch in her posture. As she draws near I can tell that she is reading a book. The stranger does not seem to notice me as she walks past, chewing on a strand of ebony hair.

"Good afternoon," she mumbles as she walks past, turning her head to nod at me.

"Good after..." Diana. But not Diana. The uncanny resemblance in her face. She has Diana's bone structure. I've fought her in practice enough times to know the map of her cheekbones and jaw. But the eyes are off. The girl, now past, has ocean blue eyes and a nose much like one of the men in the photograph. Steve, I believe. Steve Trevor.

I have to ask. I need to. I jog to catch up with the urchin. "Hey," I said, "you don't happen to know Diana Prince, do you?"

Her face registered no recollection. Then her constellation of pimples in an upside-down W on her forehead, nose, and temples furrowed. A sudden flash of fear crossed her eyes. In a swift movement, she closed her book and raised it to my head, striking me. As my vision goes dark and my legs give out beneath me. Not-Diana turns and bolts down the path.


	2. Chapter 2

**Bruce:**

It seems she did not hit me very hard. As I came back to the world, I could see her in her red sweater, running away. I pull myself up off the ground and stumble as I try to regain my balance.

Do I go after her? Do I wait for Diana? The girl didn't seem to know her, but I would never know for sure.

I start to walk. One foot in front of the other. One two, one two. Faster, faster, until I'm beginning to tire. I've trained for hours on end being Batman, so I can say professionally that she is fast. Demi-God fast? It's hard to tell. She's small enough to dart through the crowds with a grace and balance a full-sized man like me cannot muster.

My shoulder collides hard with a civilian and a throbbing pain goes through my shoulder.

"Bruce?" It's Diana.

"Diana!" I exclaim. "Diana, do you have a daughter."

"No," her face twists with surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"That girl there," I explain,"I swear she looks just like you, but with the eyes of one of those men from the photograph." Her face stares back at me blank for a moment, before turning to concern.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asks. "There's blood on your head."

"That girl hit me over the head with her book!" I exclaim. She wasn't getting it. It was maddening. How couldn't they be related? "Just follow me," I beg, before dashing off. A few seconds later, I hear her heels click as she begins to follow me.

"You're insane, Wayne," she mutters as she passes me.

**Diana:**

I soon see the red-sweater girl. She was walking along the sidewalk, nose in a book. Probably the same one Bruce claims she hit him with. I tail her down a few streets before she slips into a ballet school. Large banners cover the ancient building, advertising the production of _The Nutcracker_ that will be starting mid-November. 

I follow her inside and no one seems to notice. She darts around large men looking professional and slim dancers stretching and warming up for their second round of auditions. She scurries behind the stage, into the wings then into a girl's changing room. I keep hidden in the shadows as I sneak in.

"Ambrosine!" someone exclaims. I hide behind a wall. "Did you hear." Her voice lowers to a whisper. "They aren't running auditions for Clara anymore."

"What?" asks Ambrosine. "Why?"

"Stacy McCafferty," says a voice in disgust. "Last night, they held a private audition for her and she got the part! My eye! Her dad bought her in."

"We don't know that for sure Jocelyn." She doesn't sound very sure. "Are they going to make her do the choreography for Clara today?"

"Yes, but what does that have to with anything?"

"Well, my little one-"

"I'm older than you-"

"Whatever, Jocelyn. As I was saying, McCafferty was dancing _alone_ in her audition. No one was there to make her look good or bad. All we have to do is be better than her, make her look bad. Then it won't matter how much her father pays. _Nutcracker_ is a classic, and they won't ruin it for money. The studio would lose the production, and it will go somewhere or to someone else next year."

"You're smart, Rosefsky." 

"Of course I am. Now, Clemens, help me with my bun if you please." A few minutes later both girls scurry past me, numbers pinned to their black leotards.

I still haven't seen her face, the thing Bruce wants me to do. I don't have a child though, I know that for a fact. What I do want to know is why she hit him over the head, and if he deserved it. Mayhap he does if he got close enough for her to hit him. The girl, Ambrosine, must be quite strong. If this weren't a dance audition, I might have possibly thought it could make her a demi-god, but the sport explained her strength. Plus, she used a book. Those can pack a punch. Besides the Greek name, I do not see any connection between myself and the stranger.

I walk back out of the audition hall and Bruce is waiting for me.

"See what I mean?" he asks me.

"No," I reply. "I didn't see her face, and I think I would know if I had a kid."

"Diana, I know what I saw!" _Why is he so insistent?_

"And I know my life, just leave it alone. Please." I add, in an attempt not to sound too harsh. "You're hurt. Let's get you patched up then talk about this later."


	3. Chapter 3

**Diana:**

It's been three days and Bruce still will not let this go. As we stand in the airport, awaiting his airplane, he's still mumbling about the encounter. We sit on the blue benches outside processing and customs because I do not want him on his own until it was absolutely necessary. Which will be in five minutes. Four and fifty-nine seconds.

I've already called Alfred, told him about Mr. Wayne's condition. He promises to do the best he can, but I have some doubts. I would see him safely to America, but I know I can't leave. London needs a superhero. America has Superman and Batman (whenever he recovers), Supergirl, The Flash, and so many scientific anomalies and space folk. It doesn't need a former Amazon to protect it. Even if I am a god.

I chuckle. A god. I work at a museum, my friends get attacked by prepubescent girls. There is no way in Tartarus that the Olympians live even a remotely similar life to the one I do. If authors like Rick Riordan are to be believed, Zeus or any of the gods would have struck the girl dead for assaulting one of their friends. I just cannot seem to get her off my mind. Bruce might be delusional, but he has spared my curiosity. I feel like a need a face.

My watch beeps. "Time to go," I whisper to Bruce. I carry his bags for him as we walk to the long line to get his bag searched and luggage checked.

"Come see me in America," he says. "Preferably when Lex Luthor hasn't stolen something you love." He smirks at me.

"Bye Bruce Wayne," I say as he walks down the isles. I turn on my heel. I've never liked crowded places, especially indoors. They have this off-putting, suffocating feeling I never felt on Themyscira.

The air in London isn't fresh. It's covered in a haze that makes the air damp and heavy with dirt. I had thought it horrible when I first arrived in these grimy, war-torn streets. It hasn't changed much.

I walk outside and step into my silver car and drive away. A half-hour later, I park a few blocks away from my house, craving a walk. I step out and move down the familiar streets, marvelling at how much everything has changed in a hundred years. London has been reborn, and, I note, my face has not changed a day. Perhaps I look wiser, more at ease with this life than I had the first year after the war. My lips curl into a smile, something that took me many years to find again.

"Sorry Miss," a girl says to me as we collide. I look down at her and suddenly lose my breath. I'm staring into the eyes of Steve Trevor. My legs feel weak and my heart glitters and my head seems to swirl around the block. A girl with raven black hair, with skin slightly lighter than mine, stares up at me with the deep blue eyes of my dead love.

This is the girl Bruce saw? I can hear my heart in my ears and can feel the sweat on my clammy palms. In an instant, the strands of hair scattered on my face felt like long sharp needles.

The girl clutches a purple book to her chest. I can make out the word Shadow, but the rest of the title is hidden by her protective grasp.

"Are you alright ma'am?" she asks. I try to say yes, but my vocal cords are not responding. Her acne wrinkles with her face in concern at my form.

"I... you just startled me, that's all," I say when my voice comes back.

"Are you sure, you don't look very well?" she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I could stay with you or walk with you to a clinic if you want. I'm not sure you should be alone."

"I'm fine. I will be fine. Please," I cannot look into those eyes any longer, "you may go."

The defiant girl is not convinced by my pitiful statement. "Can you tell me your name?"

"How about question per question?" I suggest. If she is going to keep me here I'll get something out of it. She nods. "I'm Diana Prince," I say.

"Ambrosine." She says, her voice shaking with a sudden fear. She extends a shaking hand. I take it, my hand equally as shaky. This _is_ the same girl I cased a few days ago. The same Bruce claims to be my daughter. To be Steve's daughter. It's too much. I can feel my head spinning even more.

"What are you doing out here?" I ask, trying to keep myself alert. Come on, Diana you can do it. She's just a little girl.

"Walking and reading. You?"

"I was on my way home. What's the book?"

" _Shadow and Bone_ by Leigh Bardugo. I love all her works." Her voice changes, she is no longer afraid, now wrapped in her passion for the story and author. She speaks with wild, excited eyes. "I've read everything to do with her world, the Grishaverse. But I've never read her superhero book. Frankly, I've never been a fan of them." I try to stifle my laughter and I think I manage to as she does not react. I'm about to ask her why she doesn't approve of superheroes when she excuses herself and leaves. I watch her walk away, swimming in a sea of questions that will never be answered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Bruce:**

A loud tune brings me out of my sleep. On my bedside table, my cell phone is lit up and ringing. I pick it up and see Diana's face on the screen. I roll my eyes as I debate whether or not to accept her call. She's been using Alfred to keep tabs on me after my run-in, I guess she now wants to make sure I'm fine from my own lips.

My phone goes dark and grows quiet. So fate has decided for me. I smile.

The music starts up again and the darkness of my chamber once again becomes illuminated by this little screen bearing the photo of Wonder Woman. I roll my eyes again and huff. She will not let me sleep until I answer. I get and pace around before answering.

"You know it's midnight in America, Diana," I say into the receiver.

"Man up," she snaps, her voice sounds agitated.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I...well I met the kid you were talking about, face to face."

I smirk. I was right, not delusional. 

Diana continues: "She has an uncanny resemblance, I'll give you that. But I don't have a kid." _Beep_. The call ends. I walk over to the fireplace and turn it on. It clicks to life then fills the room with heat and light. I slip back under the covers, a smile on my face.

I made her speechless. I soon fall asleep to that comforting, wonderful thought.

**Diana:**

I abruptly click end on my call to Bruce. What was I thinking? I should just let this all go. But no matter what I do, it is the one thing I can't do. Thoughts come into my mind unbidden, delivering me stories and theories.

How well do you remember the year after the war? The little voice whispers in my mind. Truthfully my memories of the events post the war are hazy, but still the idea is insane.

My work had finished less than half an hour ago. I need a distraction. I go to the nearest public washroom and change into my Wonder Woman armour while no one is around then I scale Big Ben. Atop this tower, I can hear and see next to everything. But I do not have to see everything. I close my eyes and listen. Daily noise disappears. No cars, no trains, nothing but the voices. I listen for shrieks of fear. Then I hear what I want. Someone shouting, the police radios. I leap into action.

* * *

The weekend is passed the same. The news swarms with pictures of my face and the villains, robbers, and terrorists I brought to justice. London compares me to Superman and waits with agitation for America's response. My banner flies from every high-rise. Whatever it was that I had intended to forget was gone. Nothing remained but the reputation I'm building for myself.

Late Sunday, I walk as Diana Prince down the more touristy streets, slightly afraid of being too alone in my civilian skin. The sun is setting behind the buildings, turning their tops luminous with reds and yellows.

This place was now my favourite. People moved in and out of shops, with all sorts of accents, asking for local delectables and tips on what souvenirs their precious daughters or lovely sons would like, even though they hadn't cared enough to bring them along. Tourists and natives alike held hands as they walked admiring the lights and the shops and the smells that wafted out of the bakeries. Music lined the streets as fiddlers and guitarists and musicians on every instrument imaginable played their hearts out, hoping to go home with slightly heavier pockets than when they had arrived. I drop a few coins into every small can I pass and wonder if my mother would be proud of me.

I'd killed Ares, I stopped the war. She would be proud of that. But now? I was a vigilante roaming the streets of the first town that took me in. I worked at a museum, as I knew more about Greek history than historians. In their defence, they did not live in Themyscira. They'd never confronted a god.

The crowds have dimmed down; I must have wandered further than I wanted. What street is up next? There is one around here I know I must avoid. 

Too late. I drop my handbag as I'm confronted with a poster for _The Nutcracker_. On no, I'm on the street for the Apollo Victoria Theater. My heart begins to pound in my chest. Inside, I am kicking myself for not paying more attention. How could I have gotten here if I was paying attention? And I can pay more attention than the average mortal. Inevitably my eyes find themselves drawn to the dates. The show will be running from the 18th until Christmas. It will probably go until New Year's once the tickets sell out in record time. They, like the rest of the world of men, are always looking for more money. I close my eyes and speed walk past it.

See, Diana, not so bad. Nothing happened.

If nothing happened why is my heart beating in my ears? Why are my palms sticky with sweat? Why won't the face of a stupid little girl go away? I dig my nails into my skin. Bad Diana. No thinking of her. Not now, not ever. This is an insane game Mr. Wayne got you caught up in. Don't start losing it now.

I can't. I plead with myself. I just can't. Her face makes me think of him, makes tears swell up in my eyes and turns my stomach to rocks. Makes me wish we had a kid, makes me wish he had left with something more than a watch to love. 

Mayhap the reason why I cannot get this out of my head is that I want it to be true. I want her to be mine. But who am I kidding? The girl has a life and a family and dreams. She's related to someone else and I just have to move on. Again. Why is everything in the world of men, by the gods, so hard?


	5. Chapter 5

**Diana:**

My colleagues at the museum can tell something is up. Usually, the old folk are oblivious to my seamless lies. Either they are getting sharper or I'm losing it.

Bruce has called me a dozen times since I phoned him on Friday. It is so easy to avoid a call. I let the phone go to voice mail, noise drowning out my office in the basement.

"Miss Prince?" a young employee asks, conning down the stairs. She has small-framed glasses and sandy blonde hair.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Hatcher wants you in his office," she replied meekly, turning her head down and away from me. She leaves the room, leaving it up to me when I go.

There's no point in waiting, for my boss will get what he wants and it's better he gets it sooner instead of later.

I walk up the stairs and through the employees' only areas and up the level of his office.

"Diana!" he exclaims, turning his chair so that he is facing me when I enter. Mr. Hatcher is in his mid-thirties, plump, but not fat. "You need some time off," he says.

No, I panic. No time off, I want to beg, but I keep my form.

"I want to send you to America to pick up an artifact," he states. "Of course I'm giving you extra time off to enjoy the splendours abroad." I calm myself slightly. I can work with this. Not the end of the world. I need to get away from this.

"A mister Bruce Wayne, I believe you've heard the name before, has offered us a beautiful piece of Aztec work for a limited display. He was very insistent that someone come pick it up and that the someone is to be you, Miss Prince." Bruce you sly man. You very sly man.

"Alright," I begrudgingly agree. Mr. Hatcher quickly calls for his efficient secretaries. They come and fill me in on all the details. My flight leaves tomorrow, roughly two weeks before I have to pick up the piece. There are two tickets for the flight back. I assume Batman will be coming to Britain again. Then he gives me the rest of the day off.

I exit his office more frazzled than when I had entered. Why did the gods hate me so much? Can't they just let me live my life? I suppose this might be punishment for killing one of their own, but they wouldn't have told the Amazons to kill Ares if they wanted him alive. They must be laughing their heads off right now.

* * *

So I'm in America. It isn't very impressive. The airport is not different than any of the others that I've been to. I take a generic yellow taxi to my hotel. Once inside, I flip on the television to a BBC channel. The announcer is unfamiliar, with burgundy hair and sharp lipstick.

She talks about a holiday parade and what toys to buy children, which new books are making the bestseller's lists. She talks about me and my recent rescues. I close my eyes and say a swift prayer to the gods, asking that they keep London safe while I cannot.

"And now onto Johnny," she says, "who is at the Apollo Victoria Theater, just across from the trains. He brings some exciting news."

The image flips to a middle-aged man decked out in winter attire. He stares at the screen for a few seconds before opening his mouth to speak. "Well Melinda, the producers of _The Nutcracker_ announced this morning that they would be reviling the identity of Clara today. We are here covering the story exclusively with an interview with the young star. When we come back from the break, I'll be standing here with the face of Clara in this year's ballet." The BBC logo flashes on the screen before a sign for Toys R Us pops up with a child and her mom shopping. Did they just change the show? I'm in America, I remind myself, they have advertisements between shows. Advertisements aren't on British television the same way they are in American.

The fabric on the couch's arm starts to stretch and I can pick up threads breaking under my grip. Stupid me for putting on British news. I should have watched some American station. 

It won't be her, I tell myself when I cannot bring myself to change the channel. She probably doesn't stand much of a chance. It could be anyone, like the McCafferty girl. Or the one she was talking to in the change room, Jocelyn. It's not going to be her.

Finally, after I visited Walmart and watched an add from "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" and every other Christmas thing I could think of, Johnny reappeared on the screen.

"Welcome back ladies and gentlemen!" he exclaims, an excellent actor. "Here with me now is the face of Clara for this year's annual _Nutcracker_ ballet at Apollo Victoria. At ten years old this her first time dancing lead in a large production. Here is Ambrosine Rosefsky!" The camera zooms down to her smiling face. She has the same stupid grin Steve did. The camera draws out, so now I can see both Johnny and Ambrosine standing side by side. Ambrosine wears her black leotard and pink tights. She had fluffy white earmuffs on that match her fluffy white leg warmers. Her red ballet points stick out like a sore thumb and are clearly worn to the bone.

"So Ambrosine," Johnny began, "where do you train?"

"I have a scholarship to the Spirit Young Dance Company," she replies, the picture of young innocence, "I go three to four times a week."

"Do you think that their online publicity has helped you in your path here?"

"Of course it has!" She sounds rehearsed. "Their aid is invaluable when it comes to achieving your dreams."

"We're running a bit short on time," he says. 

Bullocks, I think, they're barely into the interview. I guess they have better news. "Do you have any goals for the future?" the announcer asks.

She thinks for a second. "I'd love to work with The Royal Ballet one day and be a prima ballerina assoluta. Although honestly, I'd ditch the former if it meant achieving the latter." Johnny chuckles and wishes her a good night. She waves at the camera and I turn off the telly. Enough for today. I walk over to the bed and lie down, determined to catch up with the time change.


	6. Chapter 6

**Diana:**

I'm lost. After my nap, I'd decided to stretch my legs. I'd taken a taxi quite a long way away to a nature trail that's nearly deserted this time of year. Without a glance at the map, I had dashed into the trails, running at a superhuman speed, safe behind the trees. When I closed my eyes I saw Themyscira. Somehow I still have the streets I haven't seen in over a hundred years still laid out in my mind. Then I had taken a left turn to avoid a building, and ended up off the trail, somewhere deep in the deserted woods of a nature rail I don't even know the name of.

Brilliant move Prince. I hadn't even told Wayne where I was going. I bet he would be frazzled when he found my empty hotel room with no note. I bet he'll think he wants to kill me. Well, he could always try, but as far as I know, mortals don't stand up very well to gods. Or aliens. Or other mortals, especially rich other mortals. In a way, I'm all three. I'm an alien in America, as my citizenship is British, I'm a rich mortal having over 100 years worth of savings, and I'm a god.

At least I cleared my head and stretched my legs. Now I can focus on getting out of here.

"Diana!" a voice shrieks in the distance. I inhale sharply as my shoulders tense. It was nothing, I tell myself as my eyes drift downwards, scanning for a trail.

"Princess Diana of Themyscira, Daughter of Hippolyta!" It shrieks again. I jump, actually bounding into a tree. I hug the branch for dear life as I calm myself. Once I can clearly see the ground, I let go. I land, punching the earth, absorbing much of the fall in my legs with no broken bones.

"Who's there!" I call out.

"Diana," the voice teases. "Come on Diana. Think." Great, after all these years the gods choose _now_ to send me some omniscient guide!

"Diana, do not tell me thy memory does not serve thee well anymore." Now that it wasn't yelling at me, it seems to belong to a female. I close my eyes. If I learnt anything on that magical secluded island, it's that you do what those godly voices say or face the consequences. The ugly consequences.

The voice... I remember it talking to my mom. Slowly, the names of the goddesses came back to me. Mother conversed often with Hera, though she had a strong, overbearing voice much unlike the one I was hearing. Artemis was too serious, and I think I lost her favour as soon as I kissed Trevor. Aphrodite was way to playful and I'm sure she cursed my love life, in both senses. Atalanta is lion now, thanks to a latter goddess, so I can cross her off. It's too late in the day for Eos to be giving me advice. She's much more of an early bird. Often only an early bird. I doubt Nike wants anything to do with me and Mnemosyne is much more...creepier... than a voice in the woods.

"Thou art a disappointment," the voice declares. "Is the mortal world numbing thy mind? Or art thou brain soft." My hand whips to my mouth in an attempt to stifle my laugh, but it escapes through my nose in the form of an undignified snort. Athena! Of course! How could I have forgotten the goddess of wisdom?

"And battle strategy," she reminds me.

"Show yourself," I command, the words coming out harsher than I wish. In a flash of white light, a tanned goddess with long browns locks stands in front of me wearing a casual white toga and battle armour. 

"Diana Princess of Themyscira, Daughter of Hippolyta, daughter of Othera, daughter of-"

"You can stop now," I tell her. "Amazonian lineage doesn't go past Othera."

"I _know_ that. I just wanted to remind thee that thy lineage is not just gods and clay."

"Alright." Right, I'm speaking with Athena. Always beats around the bush unless she's desperate. Always speaks like it's Shakespeare.

"Thou dost naught yet ken why my presence is needed." I nod. Unless she's here to get me un-lost, I have no clue. "Thou art being tested, Diana. The girl, the missing memories. All is but a test. Pass it, and thou shalt find thyself again. Fail, thou shalt return to thy place of birth, for the race of men have no need for a lost hero in a world where heroes are found in abundance. There thou shalt await the next war between men and gods. Thus thou art tasked with proving thy purpose here as Diana _Prince_." There is almost a disgust that she way she says this as if the very fact that I had to call myself Prince instead of Princess was enough to prove this society an undeserving patriarchal one.

"Thank-you O wise one." I recite automatically. She is right about the patriarchal part, but I know there is more inside. I've seen it myself, and I believe in it.

In another flash of white light, the goddess is gone.

"Thou holdeth my support." I smile as her words echo throughout the hollow forest, their words guiding me back to the trail with more certainty. As I emerge from the woods, I no longer dread my hours alone, nor the trip back to England.


	7. Chapter 7

**Bruce:**

Somehow I thought Diana would have been slightly shaken. It now seems as if she is fine. We're sitting in a five-star restaurant, one I go to often enough for the waiting staff to give me an odd eye when I show up with a woman.

"Finally, the voice in the woods was Athena," she explains. "The goddess of wisdom _and_ battle strategy. She is very picky about both titles. Wisdom comes first, always followed by battle strategy. You know, I feel like you American vigilantes could pray to her more often, but that's beside the point. She says all this," her arms wave around her as if it helps her explain, "the girl, my missing memories are all a test." 

A test? What kind of test gets me knocked unconscious by a prepubescent child? "What kind of test?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Something about finding myself."

"That's it?"

"Bruce Wayne, you are the beacon of godly ignorance!" she says it like it's a bad thing. "Honestly, I think I'm lucky Athena saw fit to tell me I was being tested. Usually, I only find out is when one of them gets angry I haven't done anything for them. It's not like they use cell phones and email. It's all flashes and messages from Iris. Never Hermes though. Themyscira is one of the only places he can't go."

"Right," I just nod. I do not know what else she wants me to do. "Have you tried Googling the kid?" I ask. Sometimes I get Alfred to Google people I think might be a threat, I don't see why it wouldn't work vice-versa. 

"No, I haven't." She pauses. I can see in her eyes she's thinking. They flick around ever so slightly like there are gears in her brain turning. "That's actually not a bad idea." She takes out her phone.

**Diana:**

I type in Ambrosine Rosefsky (and say a silent prayer that I'm spelling it right) while Bruce watches me. The WiFi at the restaurant is slow, the loading symbol spinning like it hopes to make me sick with it's forebodingness. It knows it's the only thing that stands between people and the answers or entertainment they seek.

I can count my breaths as time passes, though it fees more like hours. Sites and pictures begin to show up. The very first link titles _Cast & Crew_- _The Obelisk Train Theatre_. Odd. I click the link.

_MEET OUR CREW AND CAST!_

_Faces to watch out for in all of our productions!_

An animated banner greets me. It has theatre masks that have a similarity to the one in _Phantom of the Opera_ and it flips between quotes from Shakespeare. I scroll down the page looking at photos of regular-looking people and their titles underneath. Finally, I find Ambrosine. Her picture seems outdated, she must have been five or six when it was taken, for her front teeth are missing.

 _Ambrosine Rosefsky - Serial performer_ , the article reads, _The daughter of our founders, Ambrosine had been in every performance to date. She attends a wonderful school for the academically inclined with an online program allows her to attend rehearsals at all ridiculous hours. Her favourite roles include (but never limited to) Young Morgan Le Fey (Camelot-2016), The Only Lost Boy (Peter Pan Stole My Pants-2011), Jack (Into the Woods-2017), and Matilda (Matilda-2015)._

The rest of the page is about the theatre itself, photos from past performances, history, etc. There's also an apology saying that annual shows will be cancelled indefinitely due to current issues. Not what I'm looking for.

I go back to the search page. After the images, most of them taken from the theatre's site, there's an IMBd profile. It lists every performance she's ever been in, her dance and music training, and her agent's number.

"Miss?" A waiter has come with our supper. 

"Thank you," I say, politely flashing a smile as he sets it in front of me. I ordered a plain salad, not having felt very hungry half an hour ago.

"So did you find out anything interesting?" Bruce asks me. 

"Well, she does musical theatre at a theatre owned by _her parents_ ," I tell him.

His jaw nearly hits the ground. "Oh, Diana..."

"Don't 'Oh Diana' me! You're the one who got my hopes up about this in the first place."

"Diana. Calm down. This is part of the test, remember?"

"Or Athena could be a figment of my subconscious."

"Why would Athena tell you this was all a test then?" He leans back in his chair, looking too much like a psychologist for my liking. "Do you secretly wish that she was your child?"

"I don't know Bruce!" _Bang!_ In a passion my hand bangs down on the table, leaving a large dent and disturbing the whole restaurant. "Just stop messing with me. I want to have all the facts straight before I start meddling. I don't want to ruin her life on an emotional hunch."

"Trust me, you can't screw it up any more than it already is."

"How do you know that? And don't start playing any games."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I might be rich but I doubt all the money in the world would stop Wonder Woman from killing me if she wanted to."

"You're right and you're wrong. Nothing can stop her, but she wouldn't kill you. She'd make your life penniless and miserable. Now talk rich man."

"As soon as you gave me her name I had Alfred look her up."

"You didn't."

He cuts me off with a silencing look. As his mouth opens, I pinch myself and draw blood from my wrist for listening to him. 

"My supercomputers can get a lot more information than your phone, although you should already know that." I do. I think about years ago when I worked for the government, IRAC, an A.I., had been a marvellous source for information. "We got into some records, and anyways, her mom died sometime this year and both her aunt, godmother, and grandmother have been trying to take her away from her father and each other. So for about a month, there's been a four-way custody battle going on. And that's good."

"How's that good!?"

"You see, the court decided that it would be unfit for her to live with any of them in the current state of things. She's been put in the system as an incentive for them to hurry up and get to a solution."

"I still don't see how this helps. If I go in there, first of all, I have no basis unless we can prove I'm blood-related. Secondly, I don't see how five people fighting for custody is better than four. That's liable to mess her up!"

"You'll be happy to hear she's adopted. So you could claim to be her mother, but," he pauses for uncomedic dramatic effect, "you could just apply to be a foster parent and I'll get Alfred to hack the system and boom! You've got temporary custody of the kid." Maybe I should have done more than just dent the table. Or never left Themyscira. I never signed up to have gods wreak people's lives just to test me. And I can't believe this madness seems like the only logical plan. 

As of on autopilot, I get up from my chair. I walk outside, people's eyes burning into my back as if they realize who I am. 

"She smashes the table-"

"Not human-"

"It's Bruce Wayne-" The voices spin around me like a whirlpool, trying to pull me in, deeper, and darker until I can't breathe. Until the water crushes the air out of my lungs and takes its place.

Somehow I make it outside. The buzz of the streets. People on the sidewalk give me a wide berth and odd looks.

I wake up the next morning in my apartment with several missed calls from Bruce and my door hanging slightly open.


	8. Chapter 8

**Diana:**

I think I'm going to be sick. Right here in Stonewall, right on the peppy social worker's shiny black shoes. I don't know what more stupid: the fact that I let Bruce tell me his plan in the first place or the fact that I'm actually going along with it.

Stonewall is a school right outside of London, made out of an old castle. The whole place had been transformed. The front gates were modern, but still kept out intruders. The main areas had been turned into classrooms of a sort and the detached buildings had become dorm rooms and locations for specialized classes.

Miss Apcott, the social worker, glides down the white hallways of the girls' dorm, passing the deep blue doors and kitchens in the dorm rooms. School kids, not in uniform but well dressed nonetheless, sat and stood in all the nooks and crannies, quizzing each other, studying or reading. As I walk by the rooms, it's hard not to notice that almost every door is open, where I can clearly see students lying on their beds, their laptop screens in easy view of anyone coming through the corridors. Not once did I see a video game or movie on the screens. It seems that there are no disciplinary problems here. I believe it would be frowned upon to vomit in such company.

My amazement is short-lived because we soon reach a regal staircase. It spirals all the way up to the top of the building and Victorian-era lanterns that have been remodelled to work with electricity line the walls. At the very top is a large Gothic chandelier covered in sequins. 

We walk up four of the five levels of the girl's dorm room. The fourth floor is much like the first: quiet. But it is different too. It has much more of its original castle-like look. There are many more windows and nooks for children to study in. There are a few more decorations on the walls, seemingly put there by students, and every door has a wooden plaque upon which the names of the two occupants have been carved and painted in gold. It's nicer all around. 

We pass the kitchen. It has a few more appliances and there is a fruit bowl in the center of the island that cuts it off from the corridor. A note made with sharpie has been taped on, saying to take food for the brain before you study. There is also a ceramic cookie jar with a note to reward "thyself". As we walk down the corridors, students greeting us politely as we pass, until we reach door 457. It's closed. 

"We can check the common room." I nod as she turns on her heel, but I linger, staring at the gold print. 

_Ambrosine Rosefsky_

_&_

_Emmeryn_ _Chiarotti_

Before she notices, I follow her. She leads me through the maze of hallways and doors until we reach a more modern section. After going down a few steps I find myself looking over an open concept room. It still has many of the castle-like looks, but the walls have been removed in favour of mantles. Two sides have been removed completely and replaced with glass, giving students a marvellous view of London and the River Thames. We go down the steps and are met by a door. Another wooden plaque says _For students of the fourth floor only._ In smaller letters, it states that guests must receive a key from the office. Luckily, we stopped there on our way here.

Miss Apcott pulls out the silver key and opens the door. 

The door clicks and again I'm shocked by the quiet. Lounge chairs, couches and comfortable nooks line the walls. Fancy carpeting covers the wood and stone floors so that students may sit comfortably upon it. In a far-off corner, I note the stools, tables and coffee and tea makers. The biggest thing in the entire room is the trophy case, filled with images and awards won by the girls on the fourth floor, either for the school or just for their floor.

"Ambrosine." Miss Apcott says in a disappointed voice as we walk up to a group of six girls playing cards. "You know your grandmother frowns upon such behaviour."

"We're not betting." Ambrosine replies. "Also, it's school mandated that we play games such as cards to improve our problem-solving skills and attention to detail. Also, I don't care what Grandmother thinks. And haven't you said that I need to stop acting so odd? Normal children play cards." 

Her classmates are quite good at ignoring the conversation. I don't see a change in any of their faces. She puts down a joker on the pile of cards and everyone sighs. She puts down another card, and the person to her right shakes her head. This happens a few times until she all out of cards.

"I'm President," she declares. Then she gets up. "Okay, we can talk until they have a President Butthole."

"Mind your language young lady, your-"

"Grandmother frowns upon such behaviour, I know."

"It's not nice to call your friends buttholes."

"It's a title in the game. Last person left with cards is President Butthole and has to give the President their two best cards in exchange for the President's two worst cards in the next round."

"We'll be talking about this later, young lady. Now right now I'd like you to meet-"

"Hello, Diana Prince." She cuts Miss Apcott off and I'm ashamed to admit that a smile comes to my lips as the woman's face goes red. Ambrosine extends a hand to me and I shake it. She had a firm grip this time 'round.

 _It's just Ambrosine, probably read an article somewhere,_ she assures herself so quietly only someone with mindreading could pick it up. 

"Ambrosine," Miss Apcott says, "this is, as you know, Diana Prince, she is now your legal guardian until such time as she no longer wishes to associate with you or until the court case is over and you can finally be in good, capable hands. She has already been briefed on your predicament, insane attachment to the school, all allergies, as well as to make sure that you stay out of contact with anyone involved in the case. Living arrangements and how you will proceed from here are up to the rest of you. Miss Prince," she turns towards me, "you have my number for when things inevitably go wrong. Also, I'd recommend you just leave the girl in the school's care and just sign permission slips. If you want to discuss something with her, that's up to you. And Ambrosine?" The girl looks up from her shoes. "Try, okay?" She leaves with her sour mouth in a pout.

Ambrosine looks at me for a second. "When I was three I accidentally told my grandmother 'My skirt doth billoweth' when we were at a park on a windy day. I'd been studying Shakespeare you see. Since then she's been paranoid that the theatrics of my parents are a bad influence on my mind and soul. If you can't tell, Apcott is in my grandma's pocket."

I smile. "No concern of mine, skirts that doth billoweth in the wind are the best kind." She smiles.

"So," she looks at her watch, "it's almost supper. I'd suggest, if you want to talk the thing over, we go to the dining hall. It's designed for such things. Although I have to change first."

"That would be lovely," I tell her with a smile.


	9. Chapter 9

**Diana:**

It's odd. Somehow I didn't expect the ten-year-old to show some of the confidence that long-term athletes get.

As she walked me down the hall, I had noticed that the back of her navy blue sweater read SYNCHRO in bold white letters and above had the school crest. When we reached door 457 she produced a keychain that had been hidden under her shirt. I'm assuming that all the students do that, as this is the first one I've seen.

When we get she shut the door and walks over to her closet on the left side of the room, which is an exact mirror of the left, concerning the placement of furniture. The decor, on the other hand, is entirely different. On Ambrosine's side, there are a few posters in play, the largest of which are for _The Phantom of the Opera_ and its sequel _Love Never Dies_. Interestingly enough, they are both for the European tour, which took place around two years before she was born. The wear and tear might make someone think they were the original tour ones hung outside theatres. Taking a closer look, I noticed that both of them were signed, though I did not have the time to read the names.

Ambrosine now stands in front of me without a shirt in a tan training bra. She's stepping shamelessly into a dress that has an 80s aura. It's a deep red with white trim and lace. She pulls it up. The dress goes down just past her knees and the sleeves end at the elbows. She pulls off her jeans and neatly folds them and her shirt before placing them into the brown wooden chest at the foot of her bed.

She flashes a goofy grin at me. "The dress codes for the formal supper rooms are strict for students," she explains. "You'll be fine though. There are some restrictions for guests, especially those who have been here before, but I've never seen anyone dressed like you get into any trouble before." We exit the room and she locks the door behind her.

"Did Miss Apcott give you keys?" she asks. "You can't have any to the room, it's strict that there are only ever three that can open the door. Ours, mine and my roommate's, and the master key. But you're allowed to have some to get into the building and for the lounge and stuff like that."

"No," I say, "I do not have any keys."

We go down the spiral stairs and out into the courtyard. She escorts me at a fast pace and I oftentimes have to jog to remain astride.

We enter the main building with grand doors that are a struggle to open. It takes her and Diana Prince a fair amount of time to slip through them. I know Wonder Woman would have no qualms with them, but a normal office worker like Diana should. Watching her, the way her eyes examine everything, I finally understand what Bruce means when he says he can see my gears turning. Ambrosine does not miss a beat. Her reflexes are quick and her brain quicker. It will be though keeping my identity from her.

* * *

The supper goes by in silence. Looking around, Ambrosine's dress choice is not so odd. Many girls from the school are wearing similarly styled dresses, though none of them appear to be as authentic as hers.

"So," I start, not sure what I want to say.

Luckily, she interjects. "I'd like to stay at school," she states, staring me down with a firm, unwavering gaze. "You'll still get all the money if I stay, and you'll be keeping more of it since you won't have to feed me."

"I'm not doing this for money!" I exclaim all too suddenly. She crosses her arms and leans back in her seat, unconvinced.

"You know, it's not good to be cynical all the time," I tell her.

"My grandmother hates my father so much she'd rather stick me in the foster system than let me remain with him. She's also been petitioning to take me out of the school because it has an arts program that might limit my advanced brain. Her words, not mine. She only likes me because I might possibly do something clever and then she'll be able to tell all her colleagues she raised a genius. Which is funny, because of my IQ slightly above 100. I have a photographic memory, but I'm just as quick as the slightly above average Jack. And don't get me started on my aunt. I'm not even sure we're related because I always thought my mother was an only child until she showed up one day claiming to be related to my late grandfather. There's no question she's in it for money. And since the mayhem started I've been tossed around to over ten homes, all of whom wanted money with the least amount of responsibility. So, I reserve some rights to be cynical and pessimistic and whatever."

"Okay." _How do I go about this?_ "Well, I was hoping you would like to stay with me." I'll try charming.

"That would be nice, but I have a feeling your job is quite demanding and involves a lot of sudden, unexplained disappearing. Stonewall does not tolerate tardiness. Actually, it is one of the few things that guarantees expulsion without any sort of defence. Sadly, busses aren't reliable and I haven't the faintest clue as to your location, but I don't believe it within a hours' walk of here; I would hate to have to get up before four in the morning every day when I could easily get a full night's rest here."

I can tell this will be tough. I don't believe she likes me very much either.

"We could at least try it out. I can drive you if need be."

"Look, my..." she pauses, finding the right word, "...premonitions are always accurate. I'm not getting kicked out of the best school I've ever been to because of some stranger who waltzes in here with some disposition that she might be able to help out some sad little orphan. I'm not a sad little orphan in need of a family. I am not letting you talk me into giving up my future because of whatever reasons you're going into this. If you're looking for some kid to change your life or vice versa, you should try adopting." With that, she stood up and left.

I looked around the room. No one seemed to have noticed. The waiting staff were preoccupied and the children seemed to be having engaging conversations with their parents. I should probably follow her. I get up, as I've been informed the meal was complimentary with her education, noticing that Ambrosine had barely touched her plate.

I dash out of the room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Diana:**

I go to the only place I know, her dorm room. Luckily enough, I find her sitting straight as a stick on her bed, leaning against the wall. I knock on the frame, but she doesn't respond. Her eyes are closed.

"Ambrosine?"

"Hmm?" She looks around. "Oh, hi," she says when her eyes find me.

"May I come in?" 

She shrugs. "I'm not stopping you." 

As I walk into the room, I notice she's holding a journal. I walk over to the bed slowly, watching her face. She's expressionless as I approach. I sit on the very foot of the bed and am met with no complaints.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Good question," she mumbles. I doubt she's paying much attention. " _As You Like It_ , Act II, Scene VII. Lines thirty-six to forty-three to Jacob says to Duke Senior:

_O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,_

_And says, if ladies be but young and fair,_

_They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,_

_Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit_

_After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd_

_With observation, the which he vents_

_In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!_

_I am ambitious for a motley coat,_ " She recited the quote perfectly, in a dramatic, passionate voice with just the right pitch to make me believe a young man could have spoken.

"Really? That's it?" I asked, amused. Had she actually been pondering over that quote before I walked in?

"No, it's just the first thing I thought of when you asked me." I smile.

"So you like Shakespeare, I take it?"

She rolls her eyes. "Everyone does, and those who do not are lying. Or haven't actually studied or read him. Honestly, you'd be surprised how many sayings we have today that originated in his writings. And the movies that wouldn't exist! Most people don't know that their favourite movie _The Lion King_ was based on the dreadful tale of Hamlet!" She giggles slightly at the end, and I assume she's thinking of someone in particular.

"Is _As You Like It_ your favourite play?"

"No, but I do enjoy it. I like them all, I guess. I've never really ranked them though I've always enjoyed _Macbeth_." She begins to chant: "When shall we meet again? In thunder, lightning or in rain?" Her voice changed slightly. "When the hurly-burly's done, When the battle's lost and won." She changes her voice yet again. "That will be ere the set of sun." Back to the first voice: " Where the place?" The second: " Upon the heath." And finally in her last voice: "There to meet with Macbeth."

"That was impressive. You made it sound like there were three people talking."

"Naw, that's easy. You just change your pitch or make your voice more lighthearted or more wrathy. Signing in different voices, now that is hard. I learnt that when I was young. My parents had a theatre, but it was very small, so when we did Macbeth the witches were heard but not present most of the time, so I could do the voices."

"I guess you did a lot in the theatre?"

"Yes, I did. I actually miss it, not surprising though. I've always known I miss having too much to do when the time came. Luckily the ballet was looking for a kid with a theatrical slash performing background to be Clara. Or I'd be bored silly."

"How often _do_ you get bored?" I ask. I read somewhere that people with photographic memories or that are plainly advanced tend to find repetitiveness boring.

"Well, more recently all the time. There's no reason to do the online program, so I may no longer do it. The school isn't so bad, keeps me on my toes, but once I have finished all my classes or homework, there isn't much else to do."

"You could come live with me," I raise an eyebrow. "I could make things interesting."

"My mom does that," she says automatically, then realizes her mistake. "I mean, used to. I... I don't really want anyone else too." Ambrosine suddenly becomes so small. Her posture never breaks or changes, but I can see how small she feels.

"You know, I'm not totally alien to what you're going through." Her glance proves she doesn't believe me. "My mother didn't die, true, but she didn't raise me. My aunt did. She taught me to fight and defend myself, quite literally. She died well before I was ready, though I wasn't quite as young." She just nods, staring at the blue wall opposite to us.

"All the world's a stage and death is just the seventh act," she mutters. " _As You Like It,_ extreme abridging and paraphrasing _._ " 

Mayhap she processes things in plays and literature. Sees herself or and emotion explained in a story, and uses that story to explain to herself and the world. I guess it could be worse. I can read Shakespeare.

"Diana?" She calls me back.

"Yes?"

"I still don't want to live with you," I shouldn't find it funny, but the certainty with which she says it is unparalleled to anything I've heard before. I burst out laughing.

She crosses her arms over her chest. "What's so funny?" 

"Sorry, just the way you said. I swear you sound like the fate of the world revolves around you staying here."

"Maybe it does," she says in the same, flat tone. "Maybe it doesn't. Either way, I'm not risking my place here and I'm not going to some school for animals and the unrefined. I've done that once and I will not do it again."

"You mean public school?"

"Yes. And before you ask, I was there for two full years and I went to various ones. They are all strewn with the same problems: students don't want to learn, teachers don't want to teach. There is no discipline, no punishments that are consequential. There's no respect. They're also very hypocritical."

"Really?" I don't know the difference. I was never schooled here.

"Yes!" Fiery passion again. "The teacher got angry at me for handing in my homework on the due date after they extended it for another month because they didn't want to correct it. When I was told to write an opinion article, I failed because my opinion was not the same as that of the rest of the class. When I did creative writing, I always tried to write stories like those I read, with believable religions and characters and lands with history, but whenever it wasn't ridden with flaws, the teachers accused me of plagiarism and didn't even check online to see if it was true. The one teacher that did said she couldn't find it online, but that I was still a liar. In Stonewall, excellence is rewarded, not punished. Do you know that an accusation of plagiarism can stop you from ever going to university? We had to fight them in court to have it removed so that my future wasn't blown to smithereens by incompetence." 

"That's all true?" 

She nodded and takes a deep breath. "The longest two years of my life, and ordeals I have no intention of ever repeating."

"What about the online programme?"

"You have to have a specific reason that proves that taking the online classes is a better option than showing up to school every day. And it can't just be because it's easier. I got it before because with the theatre I could attend all rehearsals and also have time to audition for other productions and attend Spirit Productions. All of that is preparing for the future, which is what school is supposed to do. Therefore, in preparation for my future, I was able not to attend all the time. I still had to show up three times a month to write tests, but other than that I was fine as long as I never missed a class. Which I never did." She looks down, her jaw askew. "Although I guess if you could come up with a convincing reason - I'm not doing the work because you want this way more than I do - we can see about it after the holidays when applications for online schooling reopens."

"I think I can do that," I reply.

She offers her hand. "Deal, Miss Prince." 

We shake on it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Diana:**

I guess I'm getting somewhere. She said that since I'm so insistent, she'll permit me to come and pick her up on Saturday mornings. I'd get her to all her classes and rehearsals on time and she wouldn't object to staying overnight at my place. Not entirely what I was hoping for, but compromise is better than nothing.

As I walk through the first hallway, it is easy to notice that there are not many kids around. Mayhap there are different rules on the weekend, for most of the doors are closed. I walk up and up the wide spiral staircase until I reach the archway that leads to the fourth floor. Again, it seems deserted. 

I traverse the hallways until I find room 457. The door is closed. I knock. There is no reply. 

_Where is everyone?_ Definitely notin this building.

I go back down the steps that seem innumerable and endless the more I walk them. With my hand on the rail, I move down the quickly. It's early, barely nine. I was hoping we could have breakfast and a laid-back morning. I guess I should have told her that.

Once outside, I scan the buildings. With little success, I close my eyes and listen for noise. Somewhere behind me, there's running and a whistle. I track the sound back to a rather small building, appearing to be not much larger than two stories, but with a lot of floor space. _Gym on the weekend?_ I roll my eyes. I swear this is the oddest school for the oddest children. I'll have to get used to it though. Ambrosine seems to love it.

I walk over to the building. The doors, this time, are reasonable in size. I open them, instantly met with the quiet sounds of squeaking shoes. I walk up the stairs to the second level, where large windows allowed me to look into the gymnasium. Students in brightly coloured exercise wear were doing exercises in small groups as teachers with teachers in blue and white uniforms with clipboards walked around, observing them. I study them and find Ambrosine in the group running laps on one-half of the floor. Her long black hair is braided down her back, but strands have fallen loose and fly around her face.

"Miss, are you looking for a student?" a voice from behind me asks. I turn and am met with a well-to-do man dressed in the school vest attire with the word _PRINCIPAL_ sewn across the top of the pocket.

"Aa-Ambrosine," I stammer, her name a stranger on my lips. "Rosefsky," I add, just in case.

"I'm assuming you're Miss Diana Prince," he says cheerily and extends a hand. "I make it my business to know the guardians and parents of all my students." I smile and take his hand. "To answer your questions, for many who do not know our system have them, this morning we are holding one of the many rounds of physical evaluations that qualify students to be on our sports teams." I nod, unsure of what else to do. "It will end shortly and I will have a teacher send her your way."

"Thank you," I reply so automatically it might have sounded a tad robotic.

"Great. Now that that's cleared up, are there any things you would like cleared up? I am here, after all, to answer any and all questions students and their parents may have about the goings-on at this vicinity."

"Well, umm." How do I phrase it? "I guess I am wondering if there's a way Ambrosine might be able to work from my place. She's very worried about moving out of the dorm rooms because she does not want to be late, but I don't think it's the best option for her."

"Your concern is admirable, but I do not see an outcome where Ambrosine's academic future would benefit from the online program as of her current situation. If anything, we, as a collective school, feel that she's better off with an escape from the court mandates. You're fairly new to this, so I don't blame you for any misjudgements, but you must rest assured that Stonewall cares for all of their long-term students and is working to help them achieve a successful future of their own design. Ambrosine will benefit well from the extracurriculars that are not offered to online students, so unless you can find a better alternative, I see no reason to change her position from an attending student. You may, if you can, convince her it would be alright to stay with you, provided she is never late as tardies merit immediate expulsion." He smiles at me, charmingly I must add. Like a true Jack of all trades. "Now, the trial should be over now, have a great day." He walks down the stairs and tells something to the coach at the steel door. The coach nods and the principal leaves.

A long whistle is blown and students drop what they are doing, then run to the centre of the room, where a different coach gives them instructions. They thanked them, many shaking his hand, then filed out of the room in pairs of twos. Ambrosine was stopped at the doorway and directed towards me. She was wearing a purple exercise bra and an orange, white, yellow, and black splatter patterned pair of leggings.

"Hi," she says, full of energy. "You're early."

"I was thinking we could go for breakfast, but-"

"That'd be great! We already ate, but I don't think I'll hold out for lunch right now." A friend hands her her bag. They smile and part without words. She pulls out a dress and slid it on over herself. "I've got all the stuff I need for today in here," she says as she unbraids her hair. The dress was a smart choice, it melds well with her exercise outfit. 

She continues to tame her hair as we walk out of the building, then off the campus in silence. I wonder if the gods hate me; if they want me to fail, and that's why they are thwarting me at every turn. I get into my car and use the mirror to look at Ambrosine, who is sitting quietly in the back, looking out the window. Maybe it's not the gods. Maybe we're just too different, or too opposed for anything to work outright.


	12. Chapter 12

**Ambrosine:**

October 28th, 2017. Diana the Enigma. That's today. Frankly, every time she shows up at my door, ready for the weekend I entitle the day "Diana the Enigma". So far, it's been seven weeks, seven days entitled "Diana the Enigma" and I still haven't figured her out. It gives me a headache. My brain knows something I do not, and thus it hates me. Sometimes I wonder what it's like to have a normal, logical relationship with one's brain and one's senses, but it's one of the few mysteries in this world I'll never know the answer too. 

At least she's very good at pretending to admire me. I've never met anyone as good as her. Being with her makes the gears turn, so it isn't that bad. Though they do get out of control sometimes. Then it starts to smell like peanut butter. And sometimes mangoes. Almost always breakfast. That's when I know that my brain has an answer, because it's done all the calculations, and I just smell the memories. But it happens too much when she's around. I can't focus on the landscapes or what she's saying. Just the nonsense my brain is processing into something sensible. At least I don't have to deal with all the nonsense in the world. I guess I'll call that a win. I do so hate the world at times.

**Diana:**

Ambrosine never says much in the car. It's when we're at the brunch diner that she talks. When I asked her why, she said that it was because it smelled like breakfast, so she could ignore her brain. 

I pull into the diner and she jumps out of the back seat. I can never get her to leave her bag in the car. It's always slung over her shoulder, giving her a schoolgirl aspect even on the weekend. We sit at our usual table by the window, surrounded by other families, who have been coming here longer than we have. We fit in, just another mother and daughter duo eating lunch like normal, civilized humans.

Today, she was dressed in a quieter outfit. Ambrosine was wearing dark blue jeans and a murky green top with an autumn leaf pattern stitched in the front finished off with her navy blue SYNCHRO sweater. Usually, she likes bright colours, a habit that apparently developed after her mother passed and she wore black until school started up again. I haven't learnt much about it, only that it happened almost a year ago during their Christmas holiday, but after New Year, forever ruining her love of the holidays and the colour black. I don't know why she's not a fan of superheroes either. I know she saw the _Wonder Woman_ movie because her friend paid for everything and she wrote her application paper (apparently Stonewall requires one each year) comparing Doctor Poison with The Phantom of the Opera and did it well enough to get accepted in. I guess I should be proud, about her and the film.

After the rehearsal, I have to take her to the court-mandated therapy session. I don't think it does much good, for she's always worried that whatever she says will be manipulated and used against her dad. Any problems she has can be related to the fact that he raised her for all of her life except part of the past year.

It's easy to see the change from high energy to her more solemn character. She doesn't fidget in her seat, her voice is quiet and flat, almost mournful. It's like two different people.

"There are three more cars than usual," she says as we pull into the parking lot. "I've seen some of them before."

"They're common cars," I say, though it's not entirely true. One is a luxury automotive. 

"I have seen them on the road, yes. But the licence plates also..." she drifts off, the way she often does when she begins to think. Ambrosine blinks slightly more often, her fingers twitching as she does the math. "I know it," she mumbles, frustrated.

We walk into the vicinity.

"Grandmother!" she exclaims in shock. I can't tell if it's the licence plate or the woman standing in front of us. She has straight grey hair and is dressed in a business suit, her hands crossed.

"Ambrosine!" she exclaims with false glee.

"You're not supposed to be here," Ambrosine nearly stumbles backwards. "You're not allowed to be here," she says louder.

"Oh don't be so dramatic!" she exclaims. "Naughty child." But Ambrosine doesn't stop. She unknowingly crashes into me, her hands on her head as she shakes it. 

"Ma'am," said a male social worker from the court, named Jones, though Ambrosine often calls him "Yellow" for it's the colour his name was in when they first met. "We should leave now."

"She needs to grow up. Just look at her, acting out. Poor upbringing, that's what it is." Ambrosine was muttering again, going through all the court mandates, looking for the loophole. Looking for the reason why her grandmother was here. 

"I just don't see it. There's no loophole. You can't be here. Yellow it's against the law!"

"See what acting classes do to a child? She can pretend and lie and cry at will." Ambrosine's grandmother rolls her eyes. "I'll fix this once you see that I'm the rightful guardian."

"Do you smell fish?" Ambrosine asks suddenly. "It smells like fish. Diana, I have another headache," she says mournfully. Suddenly the sets of eyes turn to me. 

"Ah Miss Prince. Nice to meet you. I hope you've been taking good care of my granddaughter?"

"Does anyone smell fish?"

"Or I guess not. It seems you're too lenient as well," she huffs strongly. "This is all so silly just let her some with me and all these shenanigans will stop. I mean she isn't even dressed in black. her poor mother, my dear daughter, has not even been dead a year and this disrespectful child dresses in colour. Lack of discipline." I don't like this woman. How is everyone just standing there, watching her upset Ambrosine like this?

Her physiatrist finally cuts in. "I've been against this from the start Melinda," he says, using her proper name, "but this draws the line. It's hard enough trying to convince the child to trust me when she knows I must breach the patient confidentiality and spill all to the court-"

"I'm not fourteen and technically not entitled to it, but I don't trust you and there have been many cases where it was breached by the court because of...mmgh," she mumbles, a vacant, unorganized thought in her mind stumbling out unchecked. "It still smells like fish. Why does it smell like fish? I'm not doing math!" She's beyond frustrated now. "Plus Mr. Phycologist you get facts wrong."

"Ambrosine that's enough out of you!" Melinda exclaims.

"You're not allowed to be here!" she yells and runs out of the room, her hands over her head. In any other circumstance, I would have followed, but I feel the need to stay here.

Jones is the next to speak. "Melinda, this is enough. Your games are jeopardizing the girl's health and future. You must leave the premises immediately and repercussions will follow."

"I thought we had an agreement."

"The agreement is off." Melinda leaves in a storm of fury.

Jones and I go outside to find Ambrosine sitting on the steps with her hands over her ears and nose. 

I sit down beside her. 

"It still smells like fish." She says, her eyes watery. She leans into me, pressing her head hard against me as if it might help the smell stop.

"We should call her dad," Jones says after a moment. "I think he'll know what to do." I just nod. He takes out his cellphone and dials. He explains the situation then hands to phone to me.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi," the voice replies, "she's smelling fish?" He asks.

"Yes," I say, "do you know what's happening?"

"Yes," he talks slow, this must be hard for him. "There's a possibility she has a form of synaesthesia. She was too young at the time, and it can't be properly diagnosed yet, but the signs were there. Some doctors think the... event... acted like a catalyst, speeding the development up," he explains in rush to get the information out. 

"What should I do?"

"Try and figure out what smells like fish or if there's a colour involved. Ask her what smells like fish. Make her focus on it." I do as he says. 

She says nothing for a moment, then faintly squeaks: "Pie."

"Pie? Fish pie?" I say. 

"No p-i. The number," she and her father say at the same time.

"Great so what about pie?" He dad asks and I repeat.

"It's... it's irrational and circles," she says dazily. "I don't know."

"Give her the phone," Jones says finally. "I'll take all the legal repercussions." I do as he says. 

She takes the phone tenderly. "Dad?" 

I use my super hearing. "Yeah, I'm here sweet. Now I know you're head hurt, a lot, but I need you to think. Why Pi, why fish?"

"I don't like my brain daddy," she sobs. "I think it hates me too."

"It doesn't hate you, angel, it's just faster than you. Come on, figure it out. It's telling you something."

"It's irrational," she says. "Irrational... Pi's an irrational number.... fish is an irrational smell. How can something that good smell so bad? And how does sushi taste so bad and smell so good?"

"You're on the right track. Think about when you last ate fish."

"With Claire, in Canada. Jocelyn was there too, and there was something on the television. But I wasn't interested. I calculated the mirrors. I couldn't figure out how they hung, so I found their dimensions. Claire was so proud."

"There. Feeling better?"

"Yes. I love you, daddy."

"You too, kiddo. Bye." 

"Bye." She hangs up the phone. "Thank-you Jones." She says as she hands him back the phone."I still don't get it," she says to no one in particular.

"You'll figure it out one day," Jones tells her. She nods.

It is decided that there's no use in a therapy session today. Too much drama for her brain to handle right now. I take her back to my place. We have a quiet supper with no fish. Then, later, after she finishes her homework, we sit on the couch and watch an episode of _Once Upon a Time_. She leans into my shoulder as she eats some chips and slowly falls asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Diana:**

The phone rings even though it's the middle of the night. As I crawl out of bed, my thoughts go to my Justice League contacts. Who else would call me at such an hour?

"Hello?" I say.

"Diana, did I wake you?"

"No, I had to get the phone anyways," I mumble, a line I used often when I worked as a government operative in the States.

"It's Edison, from the museum. An artifact of yours is, well um, I think you have to see it for yourself," he says. Oh no. All that stuff misinterpreted, if something's going off, it could be another apocalyptic event. Wonder Woman has been taking a sideline these past few months, but I can never truly leave her behind. What excuse would I give Ambrosine?

"I'll be right over," I sigh. 

I hang up then walk downstairs. What will I tell Ambrosine? I stop at her room and peer inside. It's one of the smaller rooms in the house. She said she didn't need the space and empty rooms made her feel small. I open the door and it squeaks slightly, the bits of lights from the moon shining through the window illuminating the dark room as she always closes the blinds. 

"Diana?" she asks quietly. "Who called?"

"The museum. Apparently, something's happening with the artifacts."

"May I come?" she asks, sitting up. "The chemicals have awoken me and I doubt I'll fall back asleep again."

I ponder for a moment, dragging my response out just for her. "Alright, fine," I say, "get dressed and be ready at the door in ten minutes. Bring something to keep yourself entertained."

"A book?" she asks, knowing that I sometimes disapprove of her excuse to ignore everyone.

"I'd say two, just in case," I tell her. Ambrosine squeals with delight.

"You have to leave now so I can change," she declares.

"Seriously?" I ask. "The first day we meet you change in front of me in daylight. Now, in the middle of the night, I have to leave the room?"

"Yes," she says, getting out of bed and pushing me out the door. 

I roll my eyes and close it behind me, but wait until I see the light coming from beneath the door before going back to my own room. I shake my head I walk down the hallway. Silly girl. I shrug my shoulders. What can I do? She's just herself.

Ten minutes later I find her dressed and waiting by the door. She's wearing her proper long coat with buttons from her knees to her neck and a beret. Over her shoulder she has her book bag, a leather pouch she got in Germany that a large hardback can fit into (though it has to be less than 700 pages). It's stretched enough that it's hard to find a book she can't fit in there if one doesn't count the ability to zip up the pouch. Today, her book fits inside nicely, creating a book-sized dent. Another lays under her right arm, her left hand holding it in place.

"I'm ready to go," she announces and we file outside and into the car. 

We get there quickly, for there is little tourist traffic. Edison quickly leads us through the museum and down into my office. When we get to the door, I pull up a chair and ask Ambrosine to wait outside in case anything bad happens. That way, she's not in the direct line of fire but is close enough that I, or rather Wonder Woman, can get her out safely. 

Inside, an idol with carvings worshipping Hades is glowing with an ominous yellow light.

"It's been doing that for about an hour," Edison says. 

I kneel beside the idol and prod at it a bit. "Hades can you hear me?" I ask, knowing I sound stupid. I know he can anyways. You say, or even think his name, and he hears you. He doesn't always listen or pay attention, but he hears you. 

It gets brighter as I take a step back. Then the light splits into two and each glowing orb gets bigger and brighter with every breath. Suddenly, in a near-blinding flash two men are lying unconscious on the floor. And one of them is Steve.

_Earlier that day:_

**Aphrodite:**

I want to get in on this whole testing Diana thing. Usually, I stay away from the Amazons and Aretimis's hunters, but she's different. She hasn't sworn off men anymore. I've been wanting to do this for a while, but no one would condone my actions until everyone else gets a shot at her too.

And the best part is my plan lets me get back at Hades. With my charm, my wits, and this awesome plan he'll be putty in my hands. I giggle. It's perfect.

"Persephone!" Hades says as he sees me. "My love!"

I stomp on his foot. "I am not my daughter," I tell him. My looks are a curse sometimes. "Although, I'm glad I look like your wife to you. If that ever changes I will make your life as miserable as I possibly can." I may not be Hera, but I am protective of my child. Mayhap this is why I want to help out Diana and give her a bit more to win out of this test. Many a man does not see his wife when he looks at me. It's a shame, really.

"May I ask why you're here? It's not summer. Persephone is mine right now." He growls. Like a dog. 

"Have you heard of a certain Amazonian God that's being tested right now?" I ask. "Well, I want a part of it."

"Then why are you here? Go talk to Zeus."

"Zeus can't help, you can," I say. "I want you to give her Steve Trevor back. He's been dead for a hundred years, so it won't cause much of a problem, and," I say, as he starts to protest, "Diana sent you the soul of Ares, the soul of a god. The least you can do is give her back the man she loves."

"For once, you make sense," he sighs. "Who exactly do you want to be reincarnated?"

"Steve. He died about a hundred years ago. British." Wasn't he listening when I explained this the first time? "And we'll need the test bit. As the keeper f the souls, I'll leave it up to you. I have no idea what these unfortunate things are capable of in the actual world." And I can't be here any longer, it smells like rotting flesh. Poor Persephone. I must leave before I get in mind to do something drastic that kills off morals again.

**Hades:**

Aphrodite is so stupid.

"You there," I tell one of my servants. "Bring me Steve, dead for about a hundred years, and British," I say, quoting her description.

"But sir, there's more than..."

"I know. Just anyone who matches, okay?" He nods and scurries off in fear of my splendour.

A few hours later, I am standing in front of seven men who match Aphrodite's description. What fun this will be! I know, of course, who she wanted. She wants me to send back the blue-eyed one with the dirty blonde hair, the one who looks lost without love. Yet she let me decide how our little part of the test is going to work and I will not be doing what she wants.

"You and you." I point to the Trevor Steve and another one who I know for a fact wasn't given Elysium. "Congratulations, you're half-way to living again. The rest may leave or I'll personally chain you in Tartarus." Everyone but the two Steves I pointed to left. "So, this is how we're going to work. You're going to switch bodies. Then, I'm sending you back to London where you'll meet Diana Prince. You have two jobs. The first one is to either kill the first person you see who is not the Amazon or promise me Diana's firstborn child. With this arrangement, you don't have to be the father. Any old bloke will do, or her eldest if she already has some brats. Secondly, you must make the Prince girl fall in love with you. Do both these things before the other and you will be mortal again."

"Wait so you want me to either kill someone Diana loves or give up her child?" Trevor says, enraged. "I can't, I won't do that to her." I can tell how much this fool loves her. Poor fool.

"Oh, you will. In time, or he will." I motion to the other Steve. 

He gives Trevor a menacing grin. I know he'll do whatever is necessary. This a great deal. At most, it's a life for a life, at least, I'm a soul or two up. I can't lose. I open up the portal to the mortal realm and bade them in, then I work my magic, changing their appearances. What fun the next few weeks will be. Now, I must find my love Persephone and make her mother extra angry at me. It would be so much fun to unleash Aphrodite on this 21st-century world. These mortals don't pray to their gods enough, and I'm sure the Olympians won't notice if a few million people die out. Oh, what fun. What fun, what fun, what fun.


	14. Chapter 14

**Diana:**

My jaw drops. My heart freezes. My vision blurs. How?

"Unng, people," Edison mumbles. I turn to see him shaking, bracing himself against my desk. "Magic, supernatural. Superman. Aliens. demi-gods," he continues. He's in shock.

But Steve doesn't look well. Nor does the other man. They all need tending too. I can't call the police, what would I tell them? My heart is so loud, I can't think. Before my eyes Edison falls to the ground with a crash, his made-to-fit suit ripping with the unexpected force. 

"Diana?" Ambrosine askes. "What's happening. Who are those people? Are they dead?" 

_Sort of,_ I reply silently. _Steve died._

She walks over and kneels beside the stranger. "This one has a pulse. It's strong. Do we have water?" She moves over to Steve.

"Yes, right," I say, her words pulling me out of my trance. "Use the water on my desk," I say, handing it to her. I examine Edison. He is regaining consciousness. 

"This one doesn't have a pulse," she says quietly. _No, Steve!_ "Diana, what happened?"

"I umm," I falter on my words as they catch in my throat as I try to hide my sadness. "Let's just focus on making sure the other one is alright first, then I'll explain, okay?" I ask, hoping to ride out her moments of concern and adrenaline by putting them to use before reality sets in and she freaks. 

She nods and turns back to the stranger pouring water all over his face. He swears and Ambrosine covers her ears muttering: "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil," before asking if the man is alright and if he can explain to her what happened. He says he can't remember and she begins to bombard him with questions. I notice the format from my lifeguard training. First the ABCs, then SAMPLE. Someone must have taught her as she is too young to take the course. I make a mental note to ask her later. Then I turn my attention back to Edison.

He is now fully conscious. "Holy I don't know what!" he says. "I think I'm going to quit. This is too much for an old man." He shakes his head. "How are they?"

"Not so good," I reply, trying not to think of Steve. Who could be cruel enough to take him from me twice? "How are you?" I ask, but he's not paying attention.

"Have you tried CPR?" he asks me. "And since when do you have a daughter?"

"No, I haven't, and since never."

"I'm currently not allowed to live with anyone I'm related to," Ambrosine says. "Diana lets me stay in her house and has the legal right to sign my life away on my behalf without consulting me as she is my legal guardian appointed by the court." Sadly, this can totally sum up our relationship.

"You should try CPR on the guy," he says absentmindedly.

I heed his advice by crawling over to Steve. Out of water so I should worry that his heart stopped, I remember and place my hands on his chest. I start the compressions, going about two inches deep and count to thirty. I don't have a pocket mask on me and technically should not perform mouth-to-mouth without it. Technically, I shouldn't touch him without gloves, but he's not a complete stranger and I doubt he had AIDS. I pinch his nose and tilt his chin, watching his chest I blow in. It doesn't rise.

I open his mouth quickly: Is something stuck inside? I don't see anything so I try again. It still doesn't work, but I go back to compressions. I squirm as by twenty I hear some ribs crack. 

"It means you're doing it right," Ambrosine tells me, although I already know this. She has the other man up against the wall and has been engaging him in conversation. He stares at me, an uncanny knowingness in his eyes. His mouth forms my name. Diana. So gentle, so familiar, even though we have never met before. Focus Diana! Steve might die. It'll be your fault. Focus!

Thirty compressions, then more breaths. The first one doesn't take but my second does. I've found nothing in his mouth. 

After that, I get into the rhythm. Time loses meaning. Ambrosine's chatter fills the room, Edison calls the police. Minutes later paramedics swarm my office and pull Steve away from me. I cry out, senseless. Don't leave me again.

Before I know it, I'm in the waiting room. It's a cloudy yellow. Ambrosine is curled up by side, sound asleep and smiling with a cheap blanket that has more similarities with a tissue for comfort. Her books rest possessively on her lap. I look at my watch. It is nearly seven in the morning. This is going to be a long day.


	15. Chapter 15

**Steve:**

The coldness is a shock. I swear, in both senses. After years of not feeling anything, the cold water on my face is almost as pleasant as it is unpleasant. My eyes flutter open, revealing a warm soft light and the figure of someone above me. So similar to when I met Diana. She pulled me out of the cold water back onto the beach where the sun of Paradise Island hit my face. And I'd opened my eyes and met an angel. 

My vision clears. At first, I think I see Diana, but it's not her. The face is too young, the eyes are blue. She is covering her ears, muttering something about evil. 

"Hi, sir, can you take two deep breaths for me please?" she asks suddenly. I do as she says. "Does it hurt?" I shake my head, looking past her. 

The girl in front of me continues to ask me questions. Do I remember what happened? Yes, but I say no. She wouldn't believe me. Am I in pain, do I feel nauseous, does my chest hurt? No. Do I have any allergies? No. What was my last meal?

My last meal. I don't remember what I ate all those years ago, but I remember being with Diana. Her smile. It was the last time I'd seen her smile. We'd danced. It was magical. And then, in some far-off fantasyland, in the dark, we'd kissed. And for a split second, everything stopped. The war hadn't existed. It was just the two of us and the way we felt. No Gods to slay, no lives to save. Well, maybe not. Maybe we were saving people. Saving ourselves. The two of us, in the dark, in that hotel, saving ourselves from the possibility of being alone again, even in a world full of people. Just the two of us, making blissful promises we could never keep: in the heat of the moment, in the middle of the war. Under the cover of darkness.

"Sir? Your last meal?" Her sharp tone calls reality harshly back.

"I don't remember," I say. That night at the hotel. How long has it been since then? Her eyes. It's like looking into a mirror.

My heart begins to beat. For the first time in forever, I can feel it beating, and it feels like it wants to rip my chest apart. I have to kill this girl if I want to live. She's the first person I've seen, she's Diana's daughter. Our daughter, I'm sure of it. Hades knew. He _knew_.

The old man in the corner asks the question on my mind. Diana is with him. Diana says no. The girl in front of me answers too. "I'm currently not allowed to live with anyone I'm related to. Diana lets me stay in her house and has the legal right to sign my life away on my behalf without consulting me as she is my legal guardian appointed by the court." Whatever that means. It doesn't sound like she thinks herself to be who I believe her to be, but there's no way of knowing right now. I say a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening that she's not related to Diana. Well, anyone but the Greek gods, as they've gotten me into this mess. 

My radiant angel crawls over to the other body. I see Diana, bent over...me... or more accurately the other Steve in my body, pressing down on his chest. After a few seconds, she kisses him, though it doesn't seem like much of a kiss. Diana. My mouth forms her name, but my voice can't seem to say it as she looks into my soul.

Silent tears fall from her face as she continues the actions. The pounding in my ears is too loud to hear the exchanges going on between the three people. So I watch Diana. The girl pokes my fingers, watching as they turn white then red as she relieves the pressure, counting the seconds the transformation takes. Her small hands have a strength to them, a strength so familiar to Diana's. And I hear Hades' voice in my mind, reminding me what I should be considering.

Oh, gods! Let me be wrong. Let this girl be someone else's. Let Diana and me be able to sort out the fate of another child somewhere in the future. 

Men come into the room in uniform. The child stands up and back against the wall, telling them all I told her. They tear the other Steve in my body away from Diana and my heart goes with her. She cries, believing me gone for the second time. How did I do this to her the first time? I've had years to think it over. I could have let her go, I could have used a parachute, but there are not enough _could haves_ to take back the actions done at times old and passed. I just know that I cannot leave her again.

I'm lifted onto a metal bed unlike any I have ever seen before. They bring me into some sort of vehicle, an alien contraption of the future. A loud noise blares as I and the other two men are rushed off somewhere in the distance. 

**Bruce:**

Just after lunch, my phone rings. Diana Prince. I press the green button.

"Hello?"

At first, all I hear is background echoes, like one might get from a public bathroom. Then a small voice begins to sob. I can't make out her words, but the few words that I make out are scattered and odd. I cannot string a meaning between them.

"Diana," I say firmly. "Calm down. I can't understand you like this and with the noise." 

I think she does a bit, but I can't make hide nor hair. She says something about Ambrosine. Has something happened to the girl? If anything has happened to the girl, all this would be my fault. My fault because I insisted Diana put herself in this situation. I crafted it for her, I made her want to take the child in. I made her aware of the plans of some sick god.

"Just tell me what happened, slowly," I say. She doesn't, but I let her talk and sob until I hear nothing but fast, deep breath coming from the other side of the world.

"Diana, I'll come as soon as I can okay? You just hang in there," I tell her. I don't think she is listening.

Then, I hear the first word not ridden with tears: "Okay."

I pull the phone away from my ear, ready to hang up. For some reason, I linger there, with my finger on the button. I stare at the photograph. It's one where she's polishing her sword. The God Killer. She wasn't smiling, but I could tell she had been content. What havoc have I unleashed upon her? I should have just let her be at that luncheon when I offered to help. Serves me right for dealing with matters I cannot understand. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Diana:**

_Ambrosine and I sit by Steve's bedside. She reads her book, uninterested, while I watch his very breath. I watch the screens that tell me he's normal, that he is okay even though he is not conscious. But it's hard to watch._

_"Can you stay here by yourself for a few moments?" I ask Ambrosine._

_"Of course I_ can _." She says. "I'm old enough and strong enough._ Will _I? Now that's the question." The "can" error is her favourite grammar mistake to point out. It drives people nuts when they ask if she can do something, she says yes, but doesn't do it._

_"Will you stay here?" I ask._

_"Yes," she replies, absorbed in her book._

_"Good." I turn and leave to find the bathroom. It's not hard to find, being just a few doors down from the rooms Steve and the other man are._

_I close the door, lock it and fall to my knees. I press a hand to my mouth attempting in vain to stifle the sobs that begin to rush over me. It's amazing I had stayed composed for so long. The tiles dig into my knees, but I care not as I soak my hands in my tears._

_Someone knocks on the door._

_"Diana!" Ambrosine wails._

_I walk over to the sink and splash water on my face._ _"Just a moment." She doesn't need to see me like this._

_Her fists pound against the door. "DIANA!" She shrieks. "DIANA!" She pounds on the door, synchronized with the beating of my heart. I leap over and unlock the latch then open the wall between us. What could possibly be wrong?_

_She collides with me then runs around behind me, holding onto my waist for dear life. Her grip so tight I can barely breathe. Her whole, small figure shakes violently against me. I look to see Steve hovering above us, ten feet tall._

_"Diana, look out!" The other man shouts from behind, but he is too late. In one foul blow, Ambrosine disappeared into thin air._

I awake with a start, digging my figures into the plastic armrests of the waiting room seats. I flinch as plastic splinters crawl underneath my skin. Ambrosine, where is she? I wipe my hair out of my face and frantically look around the room for her. My gut is as heavy as a bowling ball, but the feeling fades when I see her sitting in a window reading in the early morning light. Calm, collected. The light illuminates her hair she pushes behind an ear. 

She's okay. I take a deep breath. She's okay.

She looks over. "Diana?" She asks softly. "You feeling alright?" She walks over and sits beside me. Her eyes drift to the armrests that have my fingerprints engraved on them. She ignores it. 

"I'm fine," I tell her. She shakes her head, not believing me. She reaches out and hugs me tight. I clench my fist and raise my hand above me in fear, but as she stays there I slowly begin to relax and soon find myself giving her a hug back. She's alright. I feel myself relax.

"You are a terrible liar." She tells me. 

If only she knew all the secrets I keep on a daily basis. "I am not," I argue. 

"False face must hide what false heart doth know." She quotes. " _Hamlet_."

"Isn't that from _Macbeth_?" I ask, quite sure that the quote did not come from Hamlet.

"Yes, good for you." She exclaims then pulls out of the hug. She studies my face with a frown then wipes a tear from my cheek. "There, now we've both been venerable in front of each other." I chuckle at her bluntness. "I guess we're getting along well." She sits up straight. 

"I guess we are. I'm sorry about last night."

"Yah what happened there? And don't try hiding stuff because you think I'll freak out. Aliens fall from the sky." Right.

"Well, um, the artifact glowed and bodies appeared." Well, that's the truth.

"That's it? I already knew that. You don't know anything else."

"No," I lie.

"You're a terrible liar Diana." She raises her eyebrow. "How about you tell me what you know about the people and I will promise not to try and figure out your secrets. And if my brain does it by accident I won't say a word."

"Okay fine." I pause and take a breath. "The guy in the pilot uniform. I, um, know, knew him." I stammer. 

Realization dawns on her face. Her jaw drops as her hand raises to cover it in a slow, fluid motion. "Oh, Diana." She pauses. "Wait so it's like reincarnation magic? And if so why him and the other guy? Do you know the other guy?"

"No, I've never seen him before and no, I do not think it is reincarnation magic."

"Why?"

"I think that would be revealing part of my secret," I tell her. She nods acceptingly. then her watch beeps.

"It's nine." Yes, right, we still have a schedule! It totally slipped my mind. "We don't have to leave though. I don't think it would kill anyone if I was absent just once, but I mean it hasn't ever happened before and Murphy's Law: What can happen will happen. Someone could die because I wasn't there to do whatever that might prevent it."

"You've seriously never been late before? To anything?"

"Unless you count the fact that I sat in the bathroom longer than I should have at my mother's funeral, no I haven't. I was in the building though and I did actually show up and was off less than ten minutes."

"We won't count that." I decide. "Let's not break your perfect record."

"You absolutely sure you want to leave?"

"Do you not want to go?" I challenge.

"I want to!" She leaps up and grabs both our coats. "But we stop at your place first right? So I can shower quickly as to not smell like hospital and sweat?"

"Yes, we can, if you hurry." It's fun to tease her. She's bubbly and doesn't take it personally. I've noticed she tends to treat it as a game of whits. I often lose, but I enjoy the battle. Would that have made me a bad parent? I say a silent prayer to the gods that this will end well.


	17. Chapter 17

**Diana:**

At the end of the day, I'm driving Ambrosine back to school. I listen to Ambrosine hum in the back seat as I drive her to her classes. She never sings in front of me, but from what I can hear now, I know she'll be good. The tune is familiar, possible from _The Phantom of the Opera_. It's odd, how that play keeps appearing. The posters on her wall, the banner on the website. Mayhap it's her favourite musical and her parents decided to invest in an expensive, old poster for their angel.

"What are you humming?" I ask.

" _Masquerade_ from _The Phantom of the Opera_." She replies, then commences humming again.

"I couldn't help but notice the posters on your wall. Is it your favourite musical?"

"I guess it is. I have the fondest memories of it and the music."

"Do you mind elaborating?"

"My father always played the tunes on the piano. My mother liked to sing the lyrics. She often used one of the numbers to sing me to sleep. My parents always spoke fondly of their time on tour. We often travelled around as guests to perform at the end of tours. My mom met Sierra Boggess doing that. Sierra is very nice. I got to work with her in _School of Rock._ " She dictates in the same manner one might deliver the timetables to their elementary professor. "The music is all that bad either. Let the spectacle astound you for sure."

"So your parents met on tour?"

"No, they met a duelling piano bar." Sarcasm? She doesn't have a sarcastic voice. Ambrosine believes sarcasm shouldn't be hinted at when delivered properly. People aren't supposed to know when you're doing it.

"Is that sarcasm?" I ask bluntly.

"No, I'm serious. They met in a duelling piano bar, but nothing happened as they both believed they wouldn't have the opportunity to see one another again for my mother was to be Christine Daaé and my father the lead pianist. They met again sometime during rehearsals right before the tour started and fell in love and all that jazz." Oh! That makes sense, actually. The posters would have been from her parent's tour with their names on it. She was keeping her mother close! How sweet.

"That's sweet," I reply.

"Yes."

I take a left turn. "Do you mind if I ask how she died?"

"I mind very much." She sighs and leans back against the seat. We make the rest of the journey in silence. When she leaves, she kisses my brow robotically before entering the dorm room without a word.

* * *

By Monday afternoon Bruce has arrived via his private jet. Steve would love it. He would have loved to drive something like that. My pilot. That's all I can think as I stare at the metal flying contraption. He, he might actually get a chance to fly it now, if he ever wakes up.

But I have hope. He taught me long ago what it meant to have hope, to believe that things could be better. He wasn't conscious, but he wasn't dead. There's a chance, no matter how small, that after all these years we can be side by side in a time of peace.

We walk from the landing to my house. In times of thin crowds, I explain to him the events that took place yesterday. He listens and nods, sometimes grunts an opinion, by otherwise, he lets me talk. And talk and talk and talk. I vent, I gush, I do all those things of those I try to make Ambrosine do, laying out my soul and feelings at his feet for his picking.

"That's....mmmnh....intense." He says as I unlock my door. I use my body to block the code from his view, though I know that it would never stop him if he actually wanted in and I was not there to stop him.

"Yes." I sit him down on my couch then move to the kitchen for a drink. Alcohol has little effect on me, but that's never stopped me from trying.

"You've been reading _The Coldest Girl in_ _Coldtown_?" He asks, raising his voice as I'm in the kitchen even though I could have heard him fine. I hear him pick up a book of the coffee table. "Vampires, romance." He mocks.

"It's Ambrosine's," I say, coming out with a bottle of wine and two glasses. I place them on the table then snatch the book from his hands. "Let me see." I quickly scan the book as I don't always keep track of her reading. It seems directed at an older audience, but I don't complain as long as she isn't reading anything inappropriate. This seems fine.

"So the gods are really meddling with you?" He asks, leaning back and spreading his arms across the couch, much too comfortable for mine liking. I elbow him in the gut as I sit down.

He doubles over, coughing and no longer comfortable. "What the hell was that for!?"

"Watch your language Bruce Wayne or I'll wash your mouth out with soap," I say dryly. I smirk. His face is turning red.

"You known I'm on your side here. And hell hell hell hell and hell." I smell a challenge. I get up and walk towards the bathroom. "You're not seriously getting - Diana! Okay, I'm sorry no Diana!"He fumbles after me but doesn't make it very far. He'll be bruised and incapable for a few days.

I out a new bar of a soap, a courtesy in my opinion then go back out to the living room. "Put this in your mouth," I order, handing him the white bar. He abhors me a pleading look, but I keep my face stern. I think the challenges of motherhood, may it even by just on the weekend, is doing good for me.

Slowly, he extends a shaking hand and takes the soap from me. I grin as he slips in between his teeth. "Hopefully next time you will twice about mocking Ambrosine's reading tastes and uttering such foul language in my or her presence." He just nods and grunts, his words muffled by the soap. _Point for Diana_ , Ambrosine chants in my mind. I take out my phone and snap a picture of him, red-faced, puffy-eyed, with the soap bar sticking out of his mouth. "Blackmail," I tell him, waving it around. "Or just if I get bored or annoyed with you." His eyes follow my phone.

I sit down. He goes to take the soap out, but I stop him. "Let's watch the news and calm down a bit. Then I'll consider ending your punishment." He's going to try and kill me in my sleep tonight. Let's hope I remember this and hold back.

I turn on the telly and the pictures from in front of us. It still feels a bit like magic, the way it happens.

"Breaking news." The announcer says. "Just moments ago, a chemical fire in the labs of Stonewall Academy for the Academically Inclined broke out and is now rampaging through the building. Firefighters are on the scene, by the water is doing nothing to dampen the flames. A few students made it out of the building and their stories are terrifying."

"Yes, that's right." The other says. "Some of the girls have been claiming students from a rival school, The Sister of Perpetual Sorrow were involved, but until the whole campus has been cleared, no one can know what went down. As we speak our reporter Felicity is going to the scene and we will be keeping you posted as new events occur." The noise begging to drown out as photos of an unholy fire appear on the screen. Ten-foot-tall flames seem to be consuming the bricks and stone the castle was made of.

My feet act before my brain catches up, running out the door. Somewhere along the way, I shed my mortal garments and become the immortal Wonder Woman.


	18. Chapter 18

**Bruce:**

I am so going to kill Diana tomorrow. Or at least do my level best. I spit in an unsuccessful attempt to get rid of the horrid taste as I change into my Batman attire. Chemical fires. Sounds interesting. Diana left like a bullet, so she must think so too. I wonder if the neighbours ever get suspicious. She left so quickly it was careless. It's a wonder she managed to keep her identity hidden for so long.

Once suited up, I get into my car and type _Stonewall_ into the GPS. My gut still hurts like - Gods I can't even think the word now without that vile tasting washing bar coming to my mind. As long as the fire is just a fire, I shouldn't have to worry about getting punched in the gut. I probably already have internal bleeding. No need to make it any worse.

I'm gonna kill her.

 _You're going to try and fail_ , her voice mocks me. My adrenaline spikes as I drive down the street.

**Diana:**

I arrive at the school in record time. Police and firefighters already swarm the scene. I see students standing in lines and teachers roaming between them. They all stood tall and did not fidget. I scan the faces. I do not see Ambrosine.

She's still in the building!

"Wonder Woman!" An officer beckons me over. I don't have time for him. He's not concerned about Ambrosine, he worried about press and casualties and being seen talking with me. Ambrosine will not be a casualty.

I look at the ten-foot flames coming out of the second largest building. It's one I've never been inside before. I don't know the layout. I'm so stupid. I should have memorized it all. I had the opportunity to do so and I did not. If any harm has come to her it will be my fault for being negligent. I am an idiot.

I take a deep breath and cover my face. I won't get as severely burned as a mortal might, but the lack of oxygen will affect me as much as anyone, even if the effects are prolonged.

The doors have already been broken down. Inside, the heat is intense. There are stairs and hallways going in every direction, all ablaze. I close my eyes. I listen. I hear the building around me, made from solid stone, burning up in this unnatural fire. The sirens are blaring, people are talking and crying and screaming. _Listen closer, Diana._ I tell myself this over and over again. Now, I can practically hear the mortals thinking. I can hear their footsteps, their heartbeats. But I can't pinpoint the ones coming from the building over the fire.

So I run. through the hallways, calling for people, always attentive to a little ounce of noise that could be a child or teacher in danger. First, I find two elementary girls huddled in a corner and blocked off from the door. I get them out. In the basement, a teenage boy had a panic attack and was now hiding under a desk. When I bring him out it takes two others to get him to unhand me.

"Are there any others?" I ask the police officer.

"We're not sure. They're still doing ahead count. They've been telling the parents though, who are reporting back to us. And the principal has agreed to hand off a headcount once he's sure he has it right." I need to be Diana Prince. So be it.

I just nod and pretend to run back off into the school, but once out of sight I spin three times and find myself mortal again. Now under this pretence, I walk up the principle and ask, quite flustered, if Ambrosine is okay.

"She's fine." He replies. "She wasn't even in the building. She signed up last minute to go to the museum. I would have thought she'd told you since you signed the form."

"Right. I just forgot in my moment of panic." I lie. I don't remember ever signing a form to go on a museum trip today. He smiles and goes back to his clipboard.

I hear a cry for help coming from inside the building. I go back into the burning building. For some reason, people try to stop me. Just in case there's someone still inside.

_Dian..._

_Diana..._

_Princess..._

_DIANA PRINCE!_

The words float around my head. _Diana Prince!_ A voice calls again, inside my mind. It's forceful, almost painful. I doubt it's a god. _Over here! Help us Diana, help us._ I follow them through the burning hallways. Somewhere eventually I find two girls standing with their faces to a wall.

"I'm here to help you," I say. Slowly, they turn.

_Diana. Diana Prince._

_So odd, you're not burning alive._

_Diana. Such a wonder._

_Wonderful woman._

Their two voices bounce around in my head as they turn. In the darkness and the flames, I can't make out their faces, but I know they are laughing at me.

"Who are you."

_Who, who cries the owl._

_What are we? That is the question._

_Who made us, mayhap._

_Who cries the owl, the owl of Athena. Whowho, who-who._

"Did you set the building on fire?"

_So curious._

_So direct._

_So right._

_But so annoying._

_Tell us, God Killer. If you kill a god,_

_Do you become the god?_

_If you died today..._

_What would that make us?_

_Whowho, who-who._

_Amazon slayers?_

_God killers?_

_The Goddesses of War?_

_Whowho, who-who._

_TELL US!_ Their eyes began to glow.

It's too much. It's too loud. I can feel myself drifting, drifting away from the noise, the clamour. Somewhere warm and peaceful. With sand between my toes and the sun on my back. A sword clenched in my hand even though I have no use for it. The water splashes on my legs, cool and sharp, yet pleasant. But it all fades.

"No!" I cry. I want to stay there, to be home, to be safe. But the darkness, the all-consuming darkness, it takes me away from everything I want.

* * *

 _Beep...beep...beep_. The tell-tale noise of a hospital machine. I can't be here! One look at my blood, I'm done. I'll become a freak, a science experiment. They'll chop me up put me into test tubes, make Wonder Woman Public Enemy No 1 if I escape.

But I need to get out. Tell Ambrosine. She can't find out from a newspaper article or a house raid.

No, I can't see her. I can't drag her in. She has a chance still, at a normal life. With her dad. it might be slim but it is a chance.

I'll flee. Back to Themyscira. I will not be made a test subject to the will of men.

"Diana?" Someone asks. "Diana, can you hear me?"

I moan. Too late. I might as well have burned alive.

"Diana, I want you to try and open your eyes, alright."

Not alright. I try to move my arms. They are bound. I kick, using the force to rip one arm free. _Not today_. I tell them silently.

"Diana! Calm down! Everything is fine, it's me Alfred."

"Alfred?" I open my eyes.

"Hi." He waves. "What do you remember?"

"Nothing after the girls with the glowing eyes." Those creepy girls.

"It looks like we have a lot of explaining to do." He says, shaking his head. "But not right now." How long have I been out? Has Armageddon started? Where's Ambrosine? Is she alright? All these questions I would have asked had the plastic tube and needle in my arm not pumped me full of drugs so potent it could take out an Amazon and force me into another fitful sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Diana:**

My eyes flutter open. First, I'm blinded by the bright lights shining down on my face. Instinctively I squint, waiting for my eyes to adjust from the darkness turned to light. The beeping noise from before drums on the background, surrounded by the humming of machines. False life, I think to myself, remembering the first time I'd met such a mechanism. Fase life.

My vision clears, bringing life to my surroundings. Besides the lights above me, there seems to be little light in the room. It's dark. the wall, the furniture are all colourless grays and blacks.

I try to sit up, but the struggle has me breathless. I raise my arm above my head. I'm not tied down. Why is this so hard? It is like someone has drained all the energy out of me, reducing me to nothing. As I continue to move, I begin to struggle to keep my eyes open. The lights turn blurry before me as black spots start to dance around my vision.

No, I must stay awake! The darkness, those glowing eyes. The voices in my head. It all closes in, consuming me. I can't escape. I cannot run. I cannot fight it; I cannot do anything by lay here, letting it ravage my thoughts. Letting it cut me off from reality. From everywhere I want to be. From the people I so desperately want to see. 

I see the building in flames. It is taller, more infinite than before. "DIANA!" Ambrosine screams. She's standing at the top staring down at me, begging me to save her. I know she's crying. "Diana please." She sobs, sending a hot thin knife through my heart of stone and melting it away. I enter the building. I run, up one flight, then another. There are people here. 

"Save us Wonder Woman." They order. "Save us." They chant moving closer. "Save _us_." I would have, but Ambrosine screamed, and ear-piercing shriek that barely sounded human. So full of fear I vomit at the sound.

I turn away and run up the stairs. Two more flights. I should be at the top. Why am I not at the top? Hold on Ambrosine I'm coming. I'll keep you safe. I swear it. I keep on going up and up and up until I hit a wall.

A wall? I do not hit walls like this. I punch it but it refuses to even dent. I go down a few levels to get a running start. No Amazon shall be bested by the weak craftsmanship of mortal hands. I run. I hit the wall again, a sharp pain blazing up and down my arm. Have I broken it? The wall is still unharmed. Why won't it break?

I turn around, ready to attempt again when I see two girls staring at me. Their eyes are glowing and they stand hand in hand. 

_Diana..._ Their voices ring in my eyes, bouncing around my brain like laughter. _Diana. Diana._

"Diana!" Some speaks. Please, stranger, your voice, continue. It drives away the demons. "Diana wake up please." My nightmares shake a crumble around me. The flaming school starts to collapse, the bricks and stones crumbling around me, threatening to bury me alive.

"You can do it, Diana. Come back to us." My cheerleader calls me forth. I will not die here today, a captive to my own imagination and fears. 

The noises stop. Everything disappears. I hear a piano in the background. Have I died?

"Diana, oh gods Diana are you alright?"

I open my eyes and scream. My hands fly up over my head, protecting my ears from the sound of my own agony. _Get out of my head!_ I tell the girls, but they have already gone somewhere distant and can no longer hear me. 

I'm taken by a tremor. My tremor. My body trembles violently. I bring my arms back down to my sides, then wrap them around myself. Maybe if I squeeze hard enough the world will stop shaking. 

"Diana, please calm down. You're safe." I feel hands on me. Male hands. I try to brush them off but they're prepared and remain in place. I grab one and pull it down. The other one quickly follows, then the body of my assailant. He lands on the floor and groans, but I hear nothing crack. That should have broken some bones.

Get it together. My sisters would be so disappointed in me. My mother would be so disappointed in me. Had I performed like this, even acted like this on Themyscira, I would have disgraced her and opened a reason for someone to challenge her rule or my right as heir. My right as an Amazon even. I was crafted from clay. I had not died in battle the way some of my sisters had. I was not chosen to be one of them.

"Diana. If you don't stop this minute I will have not other option than to put you back under."

No, not that I again. I can't face them another time. I can't hear my innocent little Ambrosine cry in my nightmares anymore. I can't see those eyes every time I close mine. I need to stay conscious.

I tremble involuntarily at the thought. Please don't I want to beg, but I don't have the courage to do so.

"I don't think that's going to work." A voice from the corner says. "It'll make her worse." Listen to him I beg, covering my face again. Make it all stop.

"Oh, what did you see in there?" One person asks me. I can't keep track of all the voices.

"Diana please snap out of it. We're worried sick about you, and it's not just us. Come on, please. Think of Ambrosine. She's scared stiff that you're going to bit the dust. I don't want to make you sleep again any more than you want me too."

I freeze. For the first time in what seems like forever, I'm no longer trembling. Ambrosine. She wasn't at the school. She was on a field trip. She's not trapped on top of the building with those girls. She's here. She's worried about me. I have to come back, to come back for her.

The clarity comes in waves. First, my hearing returns to normal, then my perception. I open my eyes and look around. Alfred and Bruce are standing away from me, two of the three voices I heard. Who was the third? The one I threw on the ground.

I look down. Clark! No wonder I hadn't heard his bones break. He's the strongest mortal I know.

"What happened? How long have I been out?" I ask Bruce.

He approaches me with caution. "We're not sure what happened, but we got you out of the hospital before too many tests were done. No one has said anything so we think you're in the clear. It's been a week. You've been having fitful dreams and were dangerous when not sedated."

"Where's Ambrosine?" I ask. I can't help but notice she isn't here.

"She's still in England," Bruse says. "A social worker came and took her back since you were incapable of being a guardian. They also rescheduled the final court hearing to tomorrow."

I pull the blanket around me. "Oh." 

"We're sorry Diana, but there wasn't much we could do," Alfred says.

"No, I mean I guess I always knew it was going to happen one day." She knew it more than I did, always being slightly distant, always spending the week at school. Never getting too attached. 

"She gave us this note," Cark says, now sitting upright. He hands me a letter.

I take it, my arm shaking. I slip open the seal, well aware of everyone eyes burning down on me.

_Dear Diana,_

_If you're reading this, I'm glad you're not dead. I'd like to thank you for being a regularly nice and concerned human being, it speaks well to your character. You officially stuck with me longer than anyone who is not related to me and for that stability in my life, I am thankful. I thought my life as I knew was over last January but you made the final weeks up until this stupid trial fun, which I actually thought was impossible (I know, Murphy's Law but still everything sucked.)_ _Also, don't feel bad about the weekend. I'd like you to know that I've known the identity of_ Wonder Woman _since I was eight and saw a magazine about London's hero next to the one about London's richest woman. I'd never said a thing because I didn't want to explain that earlier comment about not liking superheroes very much. It's not that I don't support what they stand for, it's the way the media and the police handle it._ _Also, it always seemed like a great tidbit if I ever need to blackmail someone.  
_

_I've included a newspaper article to help that'll also clean up all the stuff you wanted to know about my mom's death. You deserve the knowledge for putting up with me and living through a building falling on you. Thank you again for being an amazing person and giving me something to think about before the trial._   
_Congratulations on being alive,_   
_And remember Murphy's law,_   
_Ambrosine_ _Rosefsky_ _._

I smile at how much she shines through the letter then I take out the newspaper article. It's dated January 4th, 2017. The header in bold is about me saving a cat. I look around the front page for some clues as to what Ambrosine wanted me to see.

Then I find it. _Actress stabbed_ _and killed in_ _alleyway_ _._ The title reads. _More on pg 15._

I flip to page 15. _Last night, renowned theatrical actress_ _Catalina_ _Eloise_ _Rosefsy_ _was stabbed in an_ _alleyway_ _in front of her husband. The latter called the police immediately only to be informed that all units were dispatched. It was later determined that they were valiantly helping our hero in her quest to save Mr. Mittens from a tree. The cat and family are recovering but fine. Precautions are being put in place to keep Mr. Mittens out of trees in the future. Some are saying that it was possible this was a_ _homicide_ _, for the husband's fingerprints were all over the victim and she was found in his arms._

There is another article tapped onto it talking about the poor response time of the police force. Apparently, they'd arrive almost an hour later, Catalina long cold and dead. It was determined that had even a paramedic been present she would have had a 60% chance of surviving instead of bleeding out. The wound hadn't been lethal but the blood loss had been. And it was strongly defending Ambrosine's father from the ludicrous accusations. He loved her, of course, he held her as the life slipped out of her eyes!

I hadn't realized I was crying until the paper grew heavy and weak from the weight of my tears and ripped in my trembling hands.


	20. Chapter 20

_Two Months Later:_

**Diana:**

Six of the seven major academic schools fell. A few days after the incident with the fire, it was proven by Wonder Woman, Superman, and Batman (with the help of the local police force of course) that _The Sisters of Perpetual Sorrow_ had been behind the fire. Not only that, but the school was encouraging the bright students to use their intellectual lessers for supernatural experiments, though nothing like the two girls I'd seen

 _The Sisters,_ as well as the other girls' and boys' schools in the seven, had collapsed. Stonewall, having been the least reliant on the other schools, had filed to be separated from their peers and won. Later, they announced that they would no longer be accepting applications and expelled half the school body. It's been declared that all remaining students may if they so desire, graduate from _Stonewall_.

The news, still, is going on and on about the schools and the academic standards thrust upon children. Do we actually need schools like this? Why stream children and ostracize the normal by making them feel dumb? All children should just go to the same schools for average people.

I turn off the television. It's ludicrous. Students should be challenged, especially those who want to be. I think of Ambrosine. I haven't heard from her since that note she'd written, but I have a feeling she wasn't in the group that got expelled.

I look around. I haven't moved back to my London house yet. I'm still at Bruce's hospital for the supernatural, as no one seems to think I'm stable enough to be left alone and he had both Steve and the John Doe transferred here alongside me. There's something substantially wrong with them that we can't figure out. They've only been awake a few times, and each time it has been disastrous. The first time Steve opened his eyes he lunged at the first person he saw, intent to kill. The other man did not try that but became a bumbling fool, fascinated by the world. He was fine until I walked into the room, then he lost it and fainted, cursing Hades all the while.

So Alfred keeps them sedated and semi-conscious until we can figure out how to fix them. Until we can figure out what _Hades_ did. That's all we know. hades did something to them. Hades disturbed their rest because of me. Steve died because of me, and now, because of me, he could not rest peacefully. Maybe my mother was right.

We're going to try and wake them up again today. They can't stay like this forever (well technically they can, but no one wants that). We've tied them down and they're in separate rooms. They're trying the John Doe first. I'm not allowed to be in the room, for safety precautions. I'd begrudgingly agreed to these conditions so long as I could be there when Steve wakes up.

"Diana?" Someone knocks on my door.

"Hmm? Come in," I reply. "Hi Alfred," I say with a disinterest.

"Just because Bruce lives in a cave doesn't mean you have too." He tells me. "Go outside or something."

"You make it sound like I'm a moody teenager. I'm technically older than you'll ever dream of living."

"Still, get some fresh air, Diana. Go Christmas shopping or something." I roll my eyes. So superficial.

"If I go will you leave me alone?" I ask.

"I have no plans on coming with you," Alfred replies. Perfect.

"I'll get my coat."

"Already ahead of you, Miss." He says, handing it to me.

I take a bus to an out of the way town. It has tonnes of quaint little shops, all selling hand-crafted, holiday-themed odd and ends. I wonder if I should get anything for Ambrosine. I have no means of sending her a gift and I don't think Bruce, Clark, Barry and I are all at the sending each other gifts level yet.

I browse the shops. Nothing sticks out at me.

* * *

I return a few hours later.

"Diana!" Barry is instantly behind me, helping me with my coat. "John Doe is safe and well." He reports.

"Have you learnt anything from him?"

"I don't think he trusts us." He replies. "Maybe he'd talk to you? Bruce says it all has something to do with you."

"He did now, has he?" I ask, thinking of that wonderful photograph on my phone.

"Yes, though we were all assuming before he confirmed."

We walk down the hallway. I tune Barry out as he talks a mile a minute about science. He loves talking to Clark and I, for our inhuman abilities allow us to understand fast speech. Instead of listening to him, I listen to the click my heels make as I walk.

Barry leads me to the door of the room we keep Mr. Doe in. I take a deep breath as I place my hand over the top of the cold metal handle, covering it. _Three... Two... One..._

I count down in my head. At one I push down on the latch and pull the door towards my face. John stands up when he sees me. There's something in the way his brown eyes stare into, some knowingness, some loss. I just can't place my finger on it, but I've seen it before. Somewhere long ago, in the old world. It fills my chest with a warm feeling that's soon met with sorrow.

 _Calm yourself,_ I command.

The man in front of me stands. "Diana," John breathes. The voice is alien yet the notes on which he pronounces my name strike true to my soul. He takes a step forwards but I tell him to stay back, raising an arm intimidatingly and widening my stance.

"Diana, it's me. Steve." He says. "Hades, he switched our bodies." He argues.

"How do I know you are not lying?" I ask. This stranger is treading into dangerous territory. I hope he knows who he is meddling with. Bruce, Clark, and Barry are all alert now, ready for the moment a fight breaks out. Whether they want to protect the man or me, I cannot tell. They should focus on protecting him though. He can't answer questions if he dies. _Again,_ a little voice says in my mind. _Dies again._

The man stutters for a moment. " I can... I can tell you all that passed between us since we crash-landed on Theymsicra, the Paradise Island. I can describe to you how the ocean shone like a crystal in the purest waters imaginable. How the sand was as white as bone and sparkled like diamonds in the sun."

"So can others." It's going to take much more than a description of my home island.

He takes a step forwards. "I know what you told me the night we left. I remember how fascinated you were with watches. I remember the Amazon who questioned everything and was not afraid to state her opinion and would not be told what to do, not by society, not by me and not by the Gods." He was right in front of me now. "And I know the words you uttered after the victory in No Man's Land. The words you told me in the night, the ones you whispered in my ear between the sheets at that hotel. The ones you said even the Gods would not overhear." My heart flutters. Is that true? Is he back, in this new body? He leans close to my and soft yet clear repeats to me the same words I'd told him a century ago. His warm breath lingers on my ear as I stare up into his eyes.

I no longer see the eyes of a stranger. They are replaced with the soul of my love. Our hands find each other's. A flash of red and yellow traverses the room in seconds and we are alone. I pull him closer, I need him closer. His lips find mine and suddenly he's kissing me, raw and tender. The tears I'd been holding back finally free themselves and stream down my cheeks as he wraps his arms around me, making my heart beat faster and faster.

"I missed you so much." I croak between kisses.

"I love you." He replies. I lean against his chest and weep all the tears I'd never shed, and then some. The new ones of joy for being reunited. He holds me tight and at this very moment, I swear by the Gods life is perfect as I feel the pressure of his lips against my hair and the tenderness of his new voice as he promises never to leave me and to love me for the rest of his life in this world, and whatever afterlife he is given again.


	21. Chapter 21

**Steve:**

I can't believe she's finally here, her body pressed against this shell of mine. She hasn't aged a day, my guardian angel, the love of my life and my afterlife. Diana pulls me against her and I breathe deep. I wrap my arms around her, taking pleasure in the feel of her body against mine.

I taste the salt of tears. Her tears.

"I missed you so much." She sobs between kisses. In between each word, she presses her mouth to mine, as if afraid I might vanish into thin air.

"I love you." That's all I tell her. That's all I need to tell her as her strong hands pull me closer towards her. She stands firmly on the ground, now the solid object my desires, my life, is ever hovering around in hopes of getting closer.

There's something in the back of my head. Something telling me this isn't all I came here to do. She could be mine if I only obey. If I obey I can spend every waking moment with her, and sleep with her nestled in my arms every night. We would walk down the streets hand in hand and our feet would always touch under the table to that we would never be separated again. A human sacrifice. One little life and I would be with her forever, pleasing her forever, kissing her forever. If only I obey.

I don't need to worry about tomorrow. Not now, not while Diana kisses me, safe in my grasp. Not while we renew promises with a new, profound intention to keep them no matter what the cost. Not now, not while I have it all.

**Diana** **:**

A week later, we walk down the streets of London, hand-in-hand.

"It's hideous now." He tells me.

I giggle, "it's an acquired taste." I bring his arm around me and lean into him. "You know people actually pay to go on vacation here," I say.

He kisses my head. "It's all so... I don't know. So different. And shiny."

"We're getting lunch here," I say as we turn the corner and find ourselves at the entrance of ShakeShack. There's a short line for its the middle of the week. I order us two of their spicy chicken burgers and bottled root beer. It was the same order Ambrosine had gotten us the first time she showed me this place. She'd laughed when I'd been shocked by spice and giggled again when the root beer made it worse, but otherwise ignored me, preferring the book she'd been reading over my company.

After paying, I got the pager and took Steve's hand and led him upstairs. We took a table close to the windows in the corner so that we were simultaneously staring at each other and out at London, the city that had started this all.

"So this thing sends us the food?" He asks.

"No, it'll beep when the food is ready then we go down and get it."

"Oh." He nods his head and I can see him trying to piece this new world together.

The pager vibrates and lights up red and I immediately get up to collect the food.

Steve puts a hand on my arm. "I'll get it." He says, looking into my eyes.

I sink into my seat. "Okay," I breathe, his presence suddenly stealing my breath, making my heart flutter like the flapping of a hummingbird's wing.

I kiss his cheek and say a silent prayer that he doesn't make a scene. I have an apartment near here. Mayhap it might be better to go there than get a taxi to my house.

Steve comes back up, holding a tray with our meals. "Such odd food." He comments.

"You'll learn to love it. Everyone does." He leans over and kisses me. Instinctively my armies up and I stroke his cheek. Blood rushes to my cheeks. I let loose a slight moan so he knows how I feel as a smile creeps to my lips beneath the pressure of his.

He pulls back and sets the try between us. I gaze off into his eyes, my mind wandering off into a dream world where we'd spent an eternity kissing and basking in the pleasure standing next to each other brings. A fantastical daydream that now has every chance of coming true.

Ambrosine. Where does she fit in? I don't see her with us in this vision. She's in front, or sometimes in the back, always reading, always isolated.

"Diana?" Steve breaks the trance. "I lost you for a moment there."

"You can never truly lose me," I reply. I tell him that the chicken burger is going to be spicy and dare him to try it. He makes a spectacle of trying it, making me giggle loud enough for the few others around is to look over with a fond envy of our relationship. I smile between laughs at his face. I honestly can't see the stranger anymore. All I can see is Steve Trevor, my beloved. We fit, and maybe Ambrosine doesn't. Maybe that's what the st was all about, fitting the pieces that fit together because right now, everything is perfect.

**Steve:**

She has the most ponderous, charming laugh. Like little fairies and their voices of bells. She tries to hide her snorts with her hand but instead makes herself just all the more amazing. I laugh along with her.

I can't tell her the second half of the test. This is all too perfect, and I won't be the one to cause her suffering again, even if it means suffering myself for the rest of eternity. I will face Hades' wrath gladly, knowing my princess will not be harmed.

**Other Steve:**

Hades... he is calling me... calling me to London.

Ambrosia? Immortal? The food of the Gods? He wants me to take it, the way I wanted to take the nurse. He says I will find this Ambrosia soon, and that I'll know her when I see her. He promises me life again, should I offer him hers. I offer him hers and I will take her place amount the living.

Now that I am here in London, I just need a map.


	22. Chapter 22

**Ambrosine** **:**

Wonder Woman is dead. Not officially, but I haven't heard nor seen hide nor hair of her since that building collapsed.

In my room, when all the adults who now swarm my life are safely out of ear range, I let myself cry. I cry for the world, for how will they react? and I cry for my friend, Diana Prince, who died along with the worldwide heroine.

It smells like her shampoo, a unique blend of tropical flowers and fruit. So unique, in fact, I only ever associate the smell with Miss Prince. She had been like a mother, as close as one could get next to my own anyhow, though I'd never told her that. And she'd never know how I felt, for she cannot read a letter if she lays hurried under what used to be the Stonewall science building. My favourite.

My green _Swatch_ watch beeps a telltale sign that I have an hour to be somewhere important. Wednesday nights are spent at the Apollo Victoria, across from the Victoria station. I move about my room, seemingly exhausted. This new data floating around in my head seems to have drained the energy from my limbs; removed the resolve from my actions.

I'm such an idiot! Never get attached, the one rule in the system, and I disobeyed it. I disobeyed it, and now I must face the negative consequences. Idiot. Moron. Slightly above average Jack. I clench my fists tighter with each insult I throw. None of them seem harsh enough.

I grab my bag and say my leave as I exit the door. First, I take a left, then I take a bus. I swipe my Oyster card then climb to the top level. I chew on a nail, something I've never done before. I remove it from my mouth then study the dismembered nail hanging by a thread. I take out my nail flippers and remove it. What is wrong with me?

I get off the bus and walk past the Shakespeare restaurant. I look towards the ShakeShack. I'll probably have a second supper there.

A slight trickles through the crowd on the sidewalk, painfully similar to Diana's. No, not painfully similar. The laughter is exactly alike. Stupid synaesthesia. I'm remembering when we were here, experiencing every detail as if it was the first time.

I shake my head and continue towards the Apollo Victoria. Instead of its usual green lights advertising _Wicked_ , the building is illuminated with white and pink lights. A poster for the production covers the circle with Elphaba and Galinda.

"Has Wonder Woman left us?" A newsman bellows in my ear as I walk past him. I take a quick glance at his paper. Propaganda that I have no time for.

"Miss, hey missy." Someone beckons me over. It's a beggar. I give him some two-pence from my change purse as I walk by. He blesses my soul, then, unexpectedly, takes my sleeve.

"You." He says. I yank my coat back.

"Try anything and I'll scream."

"No, not like that." He mumbles. "You think she's dead?" He asks. "That wonder gal?" I make no reply. "You do, don't ya? Here." He hands me something wrapped in newspaper. "You got yerself a kind heart lasse and a good sense of self-preservation. It's people like you she caught for, not olduns like me. Go on now, open it." He jesters to the parcel.

Wary, I unravel the paper slowly. A cold metal object falls into my hands. A gasp escapes my mouth.

"I can't take this sir," I say, handing it back to him. He takes my clean young hands in his dirty, wrinkled ones and closes my fingers over it.

"Keep it." Says he. "It is my dying wish. The pence will ease the passing but there ain't much I can do with that. You, you've got a future. That's your face up there, lasse." He points towards the Apollo Victoria. "It's gonna be you people'll be lookin' too with her gone. And I betcha you knew her eh? So Keep it, make an old beggar happy will ya?"

I nod. "Okay."

"God bless your soul." He says, letting my hands go.

I walk towards the theatre and unveil the treasure I carry. The man had given me a stunning necklace with a thin gold chain. Attached to it, no larger than my index fingernail, was Wonder Woman's insignia, her trademarked W with a delegate while head and wings set with jewels. I have no way of telling if they are real or faked, but it is the prettiest piece of jewellery I own. Not that I have much else to compare it to.

I tie it around my neck, almost at my destination when I pause, catching a familiar face in the crowd. It's that man Diana had cried over, the one who appeared out of thin air that night at the museum. He sees me and our eyes lock. His blue eyes study mine and they suddenly lose their lost and dazed look as he walks towards me. Something clicks as he walks towards me as the scent of fish fills the air.

There won't be a show tonight, I realize, for I've already turned on my heel and ran.


	23. Chapter 23

**Diana:**

I never expected Ambrosine to look so much like her father. Bruce's titbit that she was adopted had made me think that there wouldn't be much of a resemblance, but seeing him by her hospital bed I can see I assumed wrong.

Steve and I had heard a screen while we were waking to the train station and I'd jumped into action, Steve following close behind. We'd startled her assailant, so he'd done a hasty, sloppy job. I'd gotten her to the hospital and the doctors had patched her up, but she hasn't woken. They'd cleaned up her cuts and sewed the one on her neck closed and a few of the deep defensive ones on her arms.

I've been mixing an Amazonian tincture to help the healing process and I've been using my superhearing to listen to the doctors, but they aren't saying anything I don't already know. I lay it over some of her arms.

"It'll help," I tell her dad. He just nods at me, his eyes empty. I wonder if he's thinking about what happened to his wife. He doesn't seem upset that I'm here in my immortal form, so mayhap he doesn't hold the cat-saving against me as his daughter does. _His daughter,_ I remind myself. I've gotten too used to thinking of her as mine, I forgot she belongs to another.

The police stand outside, discussing amongst each other. They've asked me to stay here until further notice, or until someone else needs help. Thankfully, I have no desire to do otherwise and am grateful for the excuse to stay.

The doctors return and tell us to leave. Soon, I find myself going, knowing that I can't be acting too suspicious. Also, I'd left Steve to face this world alone and had promised to be back soon.

* * *

Somehow, someone came to the conclusion that Diana Prince should be called and informed of the situation. I, of course, accepted the invitation immediately to come to the hospital. This time Steve comes with me.

"Hi, you must be Diana." Her father says with a firm handshake. "I'm Ivan, Ambrosine's father."

"Yes, nice to meet you," I reply. What else should I say? "Is she alright?" I ask.

"She's alive..."

"That's good."

"I'd, I'd like to properly thank you, Miss Prince, for taking her in and all." He stammers. "I know she can be difficult, especially for others. You made such an impression, I dare say a good one even." We sit down outside her room, Steve on one side and Ivan on the other. We talk about menial things, like the weather and the difference in technology over the past century. I notice that he has calluses on the tips of his fingers like Ambrosine.

"Do you play the violin?" I ask.

"No, Ambri's the only one who can make that thing instrument sing." He replies. Ambri, I've never heard that before. "I'm a guitarist and pianist only. Do you play anything?"

"Well..." When I was a child I played an ancient Greek war instrument that doesn't exist nowadays. I also tried the lyre. "I did attempt the lyre at my mother's request, but I was never very good. There wasn't much music where I came from, so I never really cared." Least, not music as in it's meaning in this world. He gave me a quizzical look, much like the one Ambrosine had when I'd told her that.

~~~~~

Somewhere during the endless night, a nurse comes to tell us that Ambrosine is waking up. She leads the two of us into her room and sets us up on chairs at either side. She stands away so that Ambrosine is likely to see someone she knows first.

We sit down as she stirs. "Daddy?" She asks, her voice struggling. Fear overtakes her eyes as reality hits.

"Sweety you're alright, it's okay." He says, taking her hands. "I'm here." She looks around the room. Her eyes pass over me, dismissing me as a stranger and unimportant. I keep my face still and expressionless.

"Dad where's mom?" She asks timidly. "Is mom alright?"

"You don't remember?"

"Of course I remember! Photographic memory." We both chuckle. It seems she's still herself. "Where's mom? She was there." She says with a defiant face. her mother was there, I think, I was, but she doesn't know that I'm her mother. She might know that Wonder Woman saved her, but it seems she no longer hold any meaning to the face of Diana Prince.

The nurse steps in, deterring her from the subject. She talks to Ambrosine and the both of us about what is to pass in the next few weeks.

"Will I still be able to sing?" Ambrosine asks. "I sound like a broken record."

"You'll have to rest a lot, and not stress yourself." The nurse says. Ambrosine scowls and crosses her arms best she can with all the wires and IVs attached that are coming out from under the bandages. A picture of defiance. I get the feeling she will just order herself to make a full recovery and will do it because as much as she can be a pain, she follows instructions all the better.

Ivan and I are ushered out of the room under the pretence that she needs rest. We say little, though he mentions that he doesn't think Ambrosine recognized me. I shrug it off, though he bets anything she will in time. Steve and I say our goodbyes for we don't see much reason for staying. I give him my number when he asks and he promises to call, just in case something clicks and I'm needed.

"She's strong. It'll be alright." I say and he nods. He sits back down in the blue plastic chairs and Steve and I make our ways towards the elevator.

**Steve:**

That other guy must be in London and the fact that he went after Ambrosine is proof enough that she is Diana's child. The automatic doors close in front of us and my stomach jumps as we are propelled downwards in this apparently safe metal box. her father seems nice enough, concerned and caring. I don't understand exactly where Diana fits yet, for this seemed to be the first time they've met. If I hadn't gotten that intuition, I would have been wondering if Ambrosine was their child, not ours.

There is much I have to learn.


	24. Chapter 24

**Ambrosine:**

Ghosts? I must be seeing ghosts now. I know what happened, but that doesn't change the fact that Mother was there. I was protecting her, and I failed. And now my angel saviour sits by my side in the hospital, only in mortal form. 

My mother was there.

* * *

**Diana:**

Steve wonders at my house, flipping light switches on and off. He fiddled with some buttons, casually asking me to explain how such a thing worked and why. It's hard not to think that Ambrosine would have been good at this, oddly even better than me. She had an understanding of the world around her from her readings that was sometimes unparallel to even mine, though I had lived through much she has not.

I tell him there are quite a few laces he could sleep; Ambrosine's old room now lays empty, and many of the couches turn into beds or are just plain comfortable for sleeping on. 

He draws me into his arms and rests his head on my shoulder. "It's going to be alright." He says. 

I soon find myself walking groggily up the stairs to my room. I undress and slip between the cover and pull a pillow close. Out of everything I do, it's caring for people that drain me the most. I could run miles and miles around Themyscira and wake up the next morning with fewer pains than what I'm currently enduring. 

I hear Steve moving around below. He'd chosen Ambrosine's old room, though I hadn't told him it belonged to her. We'd moved the clothes Bruce had gotten him into the dressers and closet for now. 

I roll onto my back at stare up at the ceiling. I miss the stars. Taking a deep breath, the air seems heavy with cleaning products and other unnatural scents made to smell like nonexisting flowers. And warm. The warmth adds a weight to the air that could never have been achieved with torches. If I close my eyes, the stars aren't there. Like many things, they have faded with time.

_"Diana, get up." I'm shaken awake before the sun even rises. Familiar trumpets blare in the distance, announcing a new arrival to the island, a new woman who died honouring the goddesses in battle and earned herself a place on Themyscira. Ithippe stands before me, her mane of fiery hair untamed and brushing the ground. Her arms rest on her hips and her lips are parted in a half-pout at my sleepy state._

_She walks over to my bedside. "Up, Pixis," she says, using a rather unkind nickname giving to me behind my mother's back. Pixis is a clay pot and some Amazons find it a rather fitting mane for a girl made of clay and brought to life by Zeus. She pulls the sheets off and the cold air engulfs me._

_"Gods, what's the temperature?"_

_"Up, Pixis." She repeats blandly before leaving. I scowl at her. Sometimes, we're best friends, others, especially when my mom's involved, we're complete strangers. Being seen with me isn't always the best way to survive being an Amazon._

_I stagger about my room strapping on some sandals and slipping a dress. I plait my hair before exiting the chamber and following the sounds of the horns to the beach._

_There must be something wrong because even though I'm late nothing has happened yet. I sneak in beside my mother and she doesn't even glare at my tardiness. Instead, she and the rest of the Amazons are staring at the new arrival._

_She's barely here. Her curly brown hair and pale skin are nearly transparent against the white sand. Unlike the others who appear on this beach, her wounds bleed freely yet they do not stain the sand. She doesn't seem to see us._

_Her garments are odd too. They're familiar to me in another life, enough so that I know they are out of this century. She fades in and out before disappearing altogether, leaving us staring at the image of a child in another world reflected in a puddle that had formed beneath her._

The morning light shines into my room second before the alarm clock makes itself known with its infernal blaring. I wack it, winching as shards of the plastic shoot into my hand. I need a better, a stronger, alarm clock. 

I go to my bathroom and take a quick shower, then slip back into my pyjamas. I have no plans on working for days. As I wind my hair up around my head, my stomach growls. _How many premade pancakes do I have left over?_

I walk down the stairs, the sounds of paradise birds in my ear. I enter the kitchen-

"Diana!" I cross the room in one stride and pin the speaker to the wall. "Diana, it's me."

"Steve?' I let him go. "You startled me."

"What are you wearing?" He asks, his eyes measuring me. I'm in summer pyjamas, I realize. They must be a sight to him. In many ways he still the overly proper man I met all those years ago.

"It's actually a very common clothe length in the summer," I tell him. "Some people even wear less." His face twists in repulsion.

"That's well..." He stutters, his eyes burning my skin. "Sorry I can't help thinking about what type of lewd store you would have had to buy those at when we met." I laugh, picturing it myself. 

"I'll change if you want," I say. "I'm actually quite cold, not that I think of it. I was dreaming that I back on Themyscira and forgot winter existed." This time he chuckled. I smile. "It's nice, having you around."

He nods. "You too." He tilts his head ever so slightly forwards. His arms move from his sides to loosely around my hips, and I mimic him, staring deep into his strange eyes and somehow seeing him none the less. 

He presses his lips to mine at first, then runs his tongue against my teeth, coaxing my mouth open. I slip my hands around his neck pulling myself higher as a moan escapes me. He holds me close to him and I feel the warmth of skin radiating off and warming me. 

I nuzzle his neck as he tries to turn me against the wall. We wrestle and giggle. Suddenly, he pulls me onto the couch that we were ever inching closer too. 

"Are you okay with this Diana?" He asks.

"Yes," I say, pulling him down onto me and running my hands over his chest. "Yes, I am."


	25. Chapter 25

**Diana:**

Turns out there are no premade pancakes left. Well, no good ones anyway. Two months away and everything has gone bad. So we're making new ones and giving Steve another lesson in electricity and buttons. He's not the worst, granted, for it was only a new invention in his time, but technology has changed so much it might have well been centuries in the future.

I hand him the batter and he pours it into two circles in the cast-iron pan. I bring the mixing bowl over to the sink and rinse it out with soap and warm water before leaving it on a rack to dry. Then I walk back over to the stove where Steve is watching our breakfast. I wrap my arms around him and rest my chin on his shoulder, looking over it, a smile on my face.

"So this is supposed to taste good?" He asks. I imagine him staring uncertainly at the white goo with melting chocolate and blueberries.

"Yes, it's the best quality there is," I reply. "The chocolate will still be melted of you eat them hot and the blueberries add a particularly nice flavour."

"Food here is weird." He says, earning a giggle from me. I instruct him to flip the pancakes using a spatula, as there are enough bubbles on the top.

When they are ready, I take out some plates and syrup. I ask Steve if he would like any and he asks for my expert opinion. I add some for him, then hand him a fork and a knife. We go over to the island and sit across from each other so that I may study him as he tries this delicacy.

"It's not bad." he finally decides. "Very sweet." We both smile.

"I could get used to this," I say, taking a bite.

"Me too." He replies. We share a mutual smile, content in this moment, frozen away from the world.

* * *

Later that day, I get a call from the hospital saying Ambrosine is awake and excessively asking for me. Well, not me exactly but the other woman who'd been in the room at the time. Apparently, she'd dubbed me The Enigma Girl and her father thought it might be better if she saw me again and if I explained a few things to her. Of course, her father had said, it was all optional and I don't have to drag myself int this if I don't want too. What he can't understand is how much I want to. I want to be dragged down so deep into this web of mysteries that my presence at her bedside is a constant. So deep that I don't have to restrain myself. It hurts, because I know, deep in that place in my gut where all the dark, uncomfortable thoughts come from, that to be that constant, to be that involved, would only hurt little Ambrosine. To turn her world upside down with the realities behind my intentions is a curse so cruel I cannot bestow it.

* * *

**Steve:**

For weeks I watch Diana dote on the child. Every day that goes by digs a hole inside me and the feeling grows. I want to stay here, I need to. But at what cost?

I stand in the shadows near the door of the recreation room. The girl, I can't bring myself to dirty her name with my thoughts, frowns at the piano flanked by Diana and her father. Since the violin would irritate the stitches, she's been turning to the other instrument available to her with disdain. She knows how to play it, that much is clear, but her will is not there.

An old man in a wheelchair moves up to them. The girl smiles. He taps a few keys and she complements them. While there are pauses between the key, the girl manages to make it sound like music nonetheless.

We've been here an hour, waiting upon a medic to come and tell the results of a test. They seem to think she has some sort of ailment, though it seems fine to me.

People scurry past me. I nearly jump but I manage to hide it quite well. I'm always seeing myself, that other man inside my body, ready to do harm, ready to hurt and kill. My heart pounds in my ears, he could be near or far, I have no way of knowing. It's odd. In this world where there are surveillance cameras in every room, it seems everyone can hide a dark secret safely. Two men can come back from the dead without any questions asked, people and anomalies can hide secret identities while sporting rich lives, and little girls can almost be killed without a single person knowing who did it.

Everyone stands as the nurse comes to greet them. I move closer, intent on hearing what is said.

"All the tests have come back clear." Her brown bun bobs as she speaks. "Ambrosine is free to go." The girl cheers and hugs her father, glaring over his shoulder at the piano. How can such a small being hate an inanimate object so much?

Her father invites both Diana and me for supper at his place. Diana asks me my thoughts and that I say I don't mind. She accepts the offer.

The four of us leave the hospital together, some odd semblance of a family. I walk behind the girl and her father, and Diana, soon noticing, slows her pace to meet me. She hangs off my arm and leans into me as we walk to where the taxis are, a content smile upon her angelic face.


	26. Chapter 26

**Diana:**

The house is small but quaint. It's farther out from London than I had expected, slightly spacious to European standards. On the interior, it's easy to make to old wooden bones from the newer walls that were painted a nice shade of yellow. They had old metal furniture and decor that swirled like vines that held various plant life and corduroy couches in floral patterns with crochet blankets on the back. It was opened concept, the entertaining areas seemed to be focused on a large black piano with an open lid and a fireplace. It had this small cozy feeling Ambrosine always claimed my house missed, and I noticed it the moment we were greeted by the natural smelling air and heat from a coal bed.

Ambrosine beat her father by helping us remove our coats and hanging them up on wooden pikes in an odd corner that was out of the way. We were lead into the living room and seated on the couches which threatened to eat us and then questioned on what type of food we'd fancy of supper. Ivan tells Ambrosine to see what they have, in hopes that options will help us decide. She returns, bearing news that there is chicken, leftover ham, and pizza. Also, more than enough odds and ends to make a stir-fry or salad.

With the options laid before us and a slight bit of deliberation, we announce that we'd be interested in pizza and salad, since it's quick and simple, though we leave out the latter. If I'm remembering right, Ambrosine does not believe her father to be the best of a cook, as it was a task her mother enjoyed and was protective over, so it might taste the best out of all the options.

Ivan smiles at us and walks over to the kitchen. He isn't isolated from us because there is a large rectangular hole in the wall with floral stain glass windows on the lower length allowing him to still be in the same room as us. The three of us share small talk and Ambrosine wanders off only to reappear later with what has to be one of the largest books in history.

"It's elven-hundred and twenty pages." She says. "It's the last book in the Obernewtyn Chronicles." I nod, dazed. "You know the biggest book I've ever seen is about two feet thick. It's in the Tower of London. It's some war manual or something like that." She sits for a while before wandering off again, this time to relieve her father of kitchen duties. 

About a half-hour later, we're sitting comfortably around their table, with an all-dressed pizza and a Greek salad. Ambrosine smirks at me when her eyes meet mine after she'd placed it on the table. Ivan asks us if we're comfortable saying grace and Steve and I reply that we are. We hold hand and -

The doorbell rings. 

"I'll get it!" Ambrosine says in a singsong. She flys up and skips to the door.

"Dad?" She calls. "Did you hire new people for a play?"

"No sweetie, why?"

"Well, I don't know how to tell you that there's a bunch of women dressed like fantasy warlords or some such thing at the door." Ivan gets up and walks over to the door. Steve and I exchange glances then follow him. Ambrosine walks away as soon as her father gets there.

"Um, hello?" He says. We turn the corner.

Mother!

"Diana." She says firmly. Everyone turns, their eyes burning my flesh. I fight the urge to stare at my feet and I meet my mother's iron gaze. What is she doing here?

Everyone shifts. The Amazons come inside out of the cold and Ivan puts himself in the way of them and his daughter. Steve and I stand side by side, our hands slowly intertwining for support.


	27. Chapter 27

**Hades:**

Meddling Amazons. think they're so high and mighty. Ha! I'll show them.

Steve doesn't have much time left. He'll do it, sooner or later. I'm betting the Amazons will push him over the edge. Or vice versa. Either way, I'll be getting an extra special soul very soon. Goody!

**Diana:**

I wish I could just scamper upstairs and disappear down a hallway into a room and close the door. I hear the squeak of a bed frame as she settles in.

The three of us stand in the living room while the Amazons look around. Hippolyta gives it all it a disapproving glare I know all too well, most likely contemplating the meaninglessness of it all and the way mortals attach themselves to mortal-made things.

My other sisters look around with curiosity but never straying more than a foot from their position guarding their queen. No matter where a fight breaks out, my mother would get out alive. I try to suppress my smile and manage it quite well.

Rheliope, an Amazon with cropped black hair and green eyes, glares at me. She was the one who'd invented my lovely nickname Pixis. She probably influenced my mother to let me leave all those years ago too, hoping to take rule should she ever die in a fight. I know how much she disapproves of the way my mother runs the whole thing.

"Diana this is not what we expected." She scolds, running her fingers over a photograph of Ambrosine, her father, and a woman I assume to be her mother.

"This is my house and I do not approve of this intrusion." Mr. Rosefsky says.

"Insolent male." My mother chides, shaking her head the same way she had when I was barely one hundred and had lost a foot race to Aiclotris and four others.

"I'm asking you to explain your presence in my house before I call the police and have you all arrested for trespassing."

"Mortals!" She exclaims. "So troublesome. Like as if your moral patrols could scratch us." She chuckles.

"Likes of you?" He retorts.

My mother snorts. "Diana come. Let's leave this dying world be."

I glare at her but I don't move. There's more to this than just me, I know it. I can feel it deep in my gut, a spiralling sensation like when one gets too close to the Oracle; a heavy weight on my shoulders.

The room defends, second by second, into silence until I'm aware of every heartbeat but my own. I can even hear the faintest of beats from upstairs, and the griddle of pages. Not _The Red Queen,_ though, for that had been left on the couch when dinner had been served and was not taken upstairs in the commotion.

My mother is the first to cut through the silence. "Since no one seems to be reasonable." Her tone shifts. All the Amazons shift. I feel my spine straighten, and my gaze lowering; me pride inflating with the knowledge that Hippolyta is _my_ mother and that I am the princess. Childish, but true nonetheless. "Mortal, we are Amazons. As your history is ignorant, we were sent down by the gods to pit love into the Waring hearts of males. When your stupidity prevailed, six of them gifted us-"

"The Paradise Island," he interrupts, to my mother's fury. A few of her warriors gasp in shock that Ivan would dare interrupt the Queen. "I've read Rick Riordan, just like every parent of ten-year-old. Now please, tell me something I don't know that's not out of a fictional novel or I'm calling the coppers." To prove his point, he takes his phone out of his back pocket.

"No?" He asks threateningly. He dials and brings the phone to his ear. While the Amazons stare at him with fascination. "Yes hello, there's a group of people who just barged into my house. I've asked them to leave twice and they haven't left yet. They seem to have some odd beliefs and are harassing my guests. I'm worried about my daughter too who is home. Yes, thank-you, I'm awaiting your arrival." He turns back to my mom. "They'll be here in a few minutes, I suggest you skedaddle."

"That talking machine, how do I know it actually works the way you saw it does?"

"My Queen, if I may," Rheliope intersects, "mayhap it's best we leave the mortal be and anger not the gods from our absence in the aisle."

"Alright. We will depart without any further if Diana comes with us."

"There will be no kidnappings, voluntary or otherwise, under this roof!"

"Ivan," I start but end abruptly. What would I say? That I'm one of them and going back home would not kill me? Or that I don't mind going if it means they'll be left alone? Should I just out myself and say that I'm Wonder Woman? None seem to be a good option. And I can't leave Steve, not now. Now when we're so close to getting some semblance of a life together.

I turn and face my mother. "You can't take me, I've slept with a man." I declare boldly with a hint of a wild tone. Her eyes widen and she recoiled, nearly falling over. The colour retreats from her face. She stutters, a mix between trying to ask if I'm serious and scolding my stupidity in Greek. With a swift wave of her hand she orders all of them to leave. Rheliope gives me a sly smile as she passes behind my mother, knowing I have forfeited much by voicing this information, if it is true.

A few others give me glances as they live, but the most of them keep their heads bowed, nit meeting my eyes. I feel the heat rising to my face. Ivan mouths a thank-you at me and I give him a shy smile. I reach behind me for Steve's hands, but my fingers fall throughout the air where he should be. I turn, but he is gone.


	28. Chapter 28

**Steve:**

A bright white glow starts to envelop the house as the Amazons leave. Two figures slowly emerge from it. A female, with long black hair and bronze skin, so similar to Diana. The only difference where her moss green eyes. The second figure, as its features became clear, I recognized. Hades.

"Steve, glad to see you." He says.

I look down at my hands. Did I do it? Why don't I remember it?

"You have proven yourself worthy." The woman says sounding slightly like bells. "Oh, have I forgotten to introduce myself? I'm Aphrodite. Don't forget it." She shoots me a sickeningly sweet smile. I scowl, despite an overwhelming desire to smile back. She should like me after all if I'm getting help from her.

"She has that effect on everyone." Drones Hades. "Now, for why you're here."

"I didn't do it," I mumble. "And I'll never do it, no matter what you say or threaten. So don't bother sending me back." I grow my arms and my stance widens.

"Of course not. This is all a test remember." He says, his voice so slow and lifeless, so bored with everything.

"Now come with us," says Aphrodite, "it's almost over." They beckon me forwards. Light fades and ash envelopes the room as a find myself in a far off, familiar place of my memory. I close my eyes and hear the sounds of an old air fighter overhead and a crisp wind against my skin.

**Diana:**

"Did you see where Steve went?" I ask Ivan. He looks around perplexed and shakes his head no. Then he walks over to the stairs and calls Ambrosine down. For some odd reason, I hold my breath until she comes down the stairs. She gives us a crooked smile.

"Where did Steve go." She asks. "Wait no, that's not my one question." She freezes, holding herself incredibly still, except for the textures in her eyes, which seem to turn in sync with her brain. "My one question is: what is the connection between those costumes and the presence of those people in our house? Directed at Diana."

"No cake darling," Ivan says ruffling her hair. "This isn't Clue. But I'll answer the first question: No idea."

"Aww, I thought really hard about it. It was the only question I could think of that would reap the most answers."

"I'm not so sure," I tell her. "My answer is they claimed to be Amazons and were recruiting." She smiles slyly at me, knowing that statement carries more weight than I passed it off as.

"Where's Steve?" She asks. Ivan and I both shrug and look around the room, but my reasoning for the motion begins to fade. Ambrosine's face goes placid, no longer curious about the man.

We sit back down for supper and I look passively at the extra place setting, the vague feeling that I have forgotten something - or someone - important. But it doesn't matter now. After a thousand years I'm bound to forget someone, bound to have the faces all blur into one or slip my mind altogether. I look back down at my meal and eat it dutifully.

* * *

The next morning I find myself passed out on an unfamiliar couch, wrapped in a homemade quilt. A fire crackles near me, providing enough warmth that the only use of the blanket could be a comfort.

"Diana?"

"Hmm?" I turn over to find Ambrosine standing over me with a tray of steaming food.

"You fell asleep at the table. It was soooo funny. Dad says I shouldn't say that though. So I made you breakfast." She sits down beside me as I lift myself into a sitting position. She places the tray of waffles on my lap. "The whipped cream is homemade because I still can't get it out of cans. Oh, and the police came last night but they couldn't find any trace of anyone. They're putting out an alert."

I chuckle. "I'd sorta like to see the Amazons try and reason with a modern population."

"Meh. I'd like to see a modern population reason with a secret organization of warriors."

"I'd think it would be a lot more eventful than reasoning with an alien or science experiment gone wrong."

"Yeah." She gets up, leaving me to my own devices, and creeps back up the stair to her room.

I poke at the waffles, letting the smell warm me from the inside as a smile rises on my face. It's sweet. I wonder about last night, that missing piece I can't quite grasp. I feel lighter, but I can't help but think I've lost something important.

**Aphrodite:**

I sit on my chair on the council.

"I think this is going on for too long," Artemis mutters. "Just send her back to her people."

"She rejected them, Artemis, accept that," Hera says. "She no longer has that path available to her. She is pursuing motherhood and love. This test is to figure out where her loyalties lie. She has chosen the men, now she just needs to prove that she deserves it."

"The man has proven worthy," I say, "even in the midst of Hade's games."

"Then soon this business will come to a close," says one of the three fates. Those ladies give me the creeps.

"It's not every day a god or an Amazon goes down such a path," says the third.

"Fun it was and fun it is and soon the answers we shall know," chants the one in the middle, the one bearing that ghastly eye. The one staring right at me.


	29. Chapter 29

**Diana:**

The church bells sound nine in the morning. It had shown overnight, leaving us drenched in centimetres of wet snow. Ambrosine has taken it upon herself to turn what little there is into a snowman and send a photograph to her cousins.

I sit on the porch, watching her and her father waste most of the snow, using it as ammunition instead of a building tool. My phone rings, somehow still working in this weather.

"Hello?" I say quietly into the receiver.

"Diana!" Says the voice on the other side. "It's Bruce."

"Oh hi. Why are you calling?"

"I was trying to context Steve but I think his phone must be off."

"Who?" I ask, trying to place a face to the name.

"Steve. What do you mean 'who'?" His voice trembles. "Are you in trouble? If someone has some sort of Wonder Woman killer to your head, say pineapple."

"Nothing like that. I just mean who is Steve? Maybe you're confusing him with someone. Do you mean Ivan?"

"YOUR BACK FROM THE DEAD BOYFRIEND!" I jump up from my seat with a slight shriek as his volume pains my hypersensitive hearing. "Diana you are scaring me." He says, calmer, but there is still a tremor as he speaks. I look back over at Ambrosine and her father, who has not seemed to notice.

"I don't have a boyfriend. You know that the Amazons swear off men."

"I'm sure if there were men in Themiscyra that would not be the case because you fell in love with _Steve Trevor_." My eyes roll. Stupid male. Confusing me with someone else, it seems.

"Don't laugh at me. What about the whole test, Ambrosine being your child?"

"That's not possible." Why won't he listen to reason? "I just applied to be a costs parent. That's not the same thing as biologically having a child."

"You only did that because Ambrosine is your biological child. Diana, you came sobbing to me about it. All the way to America. I had Alfred hack the system for you!"

"That's a lie. The only time I've been to America this year was when you kidnapped me."

"I was saving your life. And you we r only in that situation because you beloved Ambrosine to be in danger. Because you love her fiercely."

"Sadly I am a woman and tend to have motherly instincts." I lament. "Seriously. I was saving everyone. Not just her. Grow up. You're just sour because I don't want to go on a date with you."

"I never asked. I'm just a worried friend. Who has a legitimate right to be? Oh! What about when we first met, Lex Luthor had stolen a photograph from you. Of you and him."

"He was going to start Armageddon. And that photo could have blown my cover."

"We both know those are lies. Why would you cave about the end of the world? You've been training for doomsday for centuries. And there's no way anyone would have made the connection from the photograph. You could have just claimed the woman in the picture to be a relative and got off scot-free."

"You guessed it." I remind him.

"Because of circumstances. No ordinary person would make that connection, especially since Wonder Woman had been scarce and in hiding." A snowball comes whizzing a bit too close to my face.

"Sorry!" Ambrosine shouts, before letting out a shriek of joy as her dad gets her.

"Come on Diana." Ivan beckons. "This is a once in a lifetime thing. Don't waste it with work."

I smile at them. "Goodbye, Mr. Wayne," I say. I hear his faint protest as I press the red button and end the call.

I look back over at them. Why would Bruce think us related? Is it possible that I have given him that impression and overstepped my bounds? I must have, staying the night. Maybe I do feel motherly towards the little girl, but it matters not. She deserves a nice life, one my presence won't secure. 

I stand up. "Sorry, it's rather important," I say as I turn and walk away, soon breaking into a run. 

"Don't you need a ride?" Ivan calls after me, puzzled. 

"It's a serious matter. Thanks for supper and the hospitality!" I call back, waving. My legs try to carry me faster as I'm out of their sight so that my mind can't decide to go back, but the motion starts to seep from my body. The sunlight fades and the air turn to ash. Planes roar overhead. My ears ring and I suddenly feel as if I've been hit by a train or caught in an explosion. Maybe both, as my muscles ache all over. 

There's something too familiar about it all, but as the light from the day fades away, I can't quite grasp what it is as sirens ring faintly, the only noise I can hear over the ringing of my own two ears. 


	30. Chapter 30

**Diana:**

Hands press down on me, pulling me upwards. Where? What? Just a moment ago, where had I been? The ringing in my ears intensifies, as if to prove to me it does not matter. The only thing that matters is the here and the now.

I open my eyes and find Steve staring down at me. His lips are moving but I can't read them.

"Steve?" He looks worried. "No, Steve whatever you're planning, let me do it." His lips move again and his grip on my wrists loosens. I look around as his hands grasp mine, pushing something cold and metal into my Palm. A plane takes off in the distance and suddenly it all comes rushing back.

As he turns and runs but I grab him, gripping him hard in my iron grasp. "Steve you can't," I tell him, staring into his sea-blue eyes. He tries to say something but I pull him closer. "You can't," I repeat. "You'll die." I slip his hand down to my stomach. "You can't die." A tear slide down my face. "You have to stay, be a father. I'll go, I'll live."

The ringing fades and his voice sounds true. "Diana, what are you saying?" His eyes gleam with hope. "Diana?" Time seems to slow around us, as if the gods are giving us all the time we need to make things right.

"Don't you remember all those years?" He shakes his head. "We weren't there. It wasn't horrible but we. Weren't. There. Steve, we have to be there. For the child, the little," I pause, Greek words flowing on the tip of my tongue. "For our little _ambrosine_ ," I say, using a Greek name meaning immortal girl.

His gloved hands brush against my cheeks, wiping the tears from my eyes. "What about Ares?"

"Ares, he," I stammer, burying my face in his chest. "It won't matter there will be more wars. This one becomes the first world war because later there is a second. Then the Korean War and a Cold War and countless civil wars. I fail Steve. I fail. I kill the body, not the power."

**Zeus:**

My child. My girl, she has finally learnt the truth. And still, she chooses a life with a man who will age and die while she stays young.

"My daughter," I say, though she hears me naught, "I bestow one final gift upon you: you and your family shall live a long and happy life, and when it is over, you shall have your places in Olympus where you will live in peace. Your life will not be devoid of sorrows and tragedy, as you know the future is full of it, but it will also surround you with love and happiness and joy."

**Steve:**

"Go," I tell her. "I'll Wait, there is little time left." She lifts her head and looks up. Right up. My gaze follows her's to where a twenty-foot tall man sits in the midst of the storm. Lightning bellows around him as the heavens tremble and a tingling sensation rivets through my body.

"Thank you, father," Diana says quietly, pulling me closer as he disappears. She kisses me before running off after the plane that seems suspended in the air. As she moves towards it time seems to catch up with us and the plane takes off. But Diana, my powerful Amazon, leaps into the air and catches it.

It flies high into the sky, past where the giant had been. Hurry, I pray to the giant. Soon it will be too late.

 _Boom!_ In a flash of orange, the plane is gone, leaving only the deadly powder.

"Diana!" The scream escapes my lips before I even see a body falling from the sky and the glimmer of her armour in the fires. My legs are out of my control as they carry me, ever fast, to where she may land. Every second, I feel my heart sinking as she draws closer and closer -

To the ground.

All that rests in front of me is a cloud of dust where she'd landed.

"No!" This wasn't the plan. She said she would make it, that she could do it. Now the world is left without a protector, and I'm to blame.

Charlie's arms wrap around me, trying to hold me in place, pulling me backwards, pulling me away. I twist and turn and swear in a vain effort to get myself. I have to get to her, she could be breathing. A human would have died, but she might just be on the edge. If only I could get to her.

Out of the dust cloud, a figure emerges. Charlie's grip loosens. She's alright! I break free and run across the runway.

"You did it!" I exclaim, taking her in my arms.

"It's not over yet." She says, motioning to Ares. "I have one thing left to do."

We all fall behind her as she walks up to him. "Ares!" She cries. " _Σας απαλλάσσω!_ "* We duck as she raises her arms above her head and a ray of light leaps forth, shattering the mortal form of Ares. He begins to grow and glow, until his large figure cracks and the light passes through, near blinding, until he can't hold himself together and his body disintegrates, leaving a flaming mess.

I run up to her, taking her in my arms as we both witness his body burn. The already ash-filled air begins to rain fire. "It's not over." She laments to me. "But when he returns, I will be ready." She turns back to the ruin, where factory workers have come out of hiding, celebrating the fact that they are still alive after the Gods wared on their runway.

"We should leave before they notice we're still here!" Cheif calls from behind us. We nod and turn and run back towards the fence.

**Diana:**

Dashing across the fields, Steve's hand in mine, I make sure not to outpace him. Using the tension in my arm as an indicator, I go no faster than he can. But it seems, mayhap I haven't truly run in a long time, that he is keeping pace no matter what. We reach the fence soon than expected and crawl through the hole we'd cut. 

I try to make a dash for the woods, but Steve holds me back. "Wait." He says, his voice shaky. I look back to see that the rest is the group is far behind us. It seems we outpaced them.

"I've never run that fast in my life." He mutters. 

"I have," I whisper, thinking about Zeus's appearance. I wonder if he did anything...

"Let's go!" Steve yells as they approach. We help them through the hole then disappear into the surrounding forest.

* * *

A few months later, the war has ended. Steve and I found ourselves a small house in northern England, away from it all. We made ourselves a little home with a long driveway and too much forest between us and the neighbours. A crackling fire keeps us warm as the radio drones in the background, talking about politics and upcoming elections now that the great war has been fought and won. 

With my hair tied back, I stand next to the stove, adding onions to the stew. If anyone walks in now, they'd see a normal household with two normal people, married after surviving the war and ready to have children in this new world. They wouldn't see the ancient armour hidden in the attic made out of materials from the gods. They wouldn't notice the bracelets I keep around my wrists and my wedding ring is made out of some metal from my gauntlets, helping me keep my powers in check and the population safe. 

If we're lucky, this stranger won't stay long enough to notice that we aren't ageing. The only telltale sign of time passing is the clocks and the little bump in my stomach, growing bigger with every week that passes.

The announcer changes, now to the old man who recounts tales from war heroes, whether he heard them personally or they were found in a diary pried from someone's cold fingers. 

"This is an interesting tale," he begins, "one about a mile tall man in the clouds and another walking on land..." the voice cuts. I look over my shoulder. Steve has turned off the radio.

"Don't worry yourself." He says. "They'll dismiss it as blasphemy or poppycock or both. Or just the delusions of a deranged man." I nod and smile. My secret's safe, my existence unknown.

Something tells me it won't last forever, that Ares will return. He had enough power to manifest a body, surely he will have enough to sow havoc a spirit. Whenever I think of the future, the world becomes a bit fuzzy, as if I've forgotten something important. But I brush it off as I serve supper to my husband, playing the role society has given me as the doting, caring wife. We sit opposite each other on an ancient mahogany table near a large window.

For now, it seems, the moment is all that matters. Ares will be back, and I will meet him. Until then, Steve and I shall live our lives as normal as we can make them.

* * *

_Footnotes:_

*"I banish you!" according to Google Translate. If this is an inaccurate translation, please let me know.


	31. Chapter 31

**Steve:**

She smells like disinfectant. A little infant, wailing in my arms, seems to have no care in the world for the ears she is assaulting. I sit on a hospital bed, next to Diana, wearing a smile of fools, my lips stretched ear to ear. Diana leans on me, her eyes half-closed as she holds our little girl's hand.

"What about Andromeda?" I ask, "or Cassiopeia?"

Diana shakes her tired head. "No, it doesn't sound right."

We've been going through everything our brains can produce. We'd agreed, long before, that we weren't giving the world another Dolly or Daisy or Jane. 

"Temperance," I say. As soon as it leaves my lip I know it's not going to be the one. The girl just wailed louder. "I can't believe the police haven't come," I mutter. I think we should go with something Greek, give her heritage, though Diana isn't keen on alienating her too much.

"Annora? or Marcellina?" I ask again, maybe Latin might yield better results.

She shakes her head. "I don't like how Annora sounds. It sounds half. And nothing meaning 'warlike'." 

"Amity for peace?"

"Too much pressure."

"Or we could go Welsh." My mother was Welsh. "Morwenna, Rhonwen, Ceridwen ."

"Those are nice." She sighs. They're nice, but they don't fit. We can both see it. Well, Ceridwen might, but it wasn't the nicest to roll of the tongue. 

I list off quite a few more names, like Morrighan, Alice, Isadora, and Lavander. None of them are adequate.

"Thalassa," I mutter under my breath, trying Greek again. Angering the gods is something I don't feel like doing.

"I like it," an alien voice said. We both looked up. A woman, bearing a striking resemblance to Diana, dressed in white robes, was sitting near the window. "Some say that's my mother's name."

"Aphrodite!" Diana exclaims. I assume it's the woman and not something she wants to call the child. 

"'Tis I!" She says melodramatically. Diana pulls the girl from my arms, keeping her close to her breast.

"I'm not here to meddle." The Goddess says. "Least, not anymore." She walks over o the bed. "You know you have me to thank for all this lovely stuff. Let's see." She says, taking a look at our child. Diana relaxes the slightest bit, but I know she's ready to strike. "Don't call the kid Thalassa though, I fear that would be cruel in a modern world, and the future modern world."

I glare at her. "How did you get in here?"

"Steve, don't," Diana says. I promptly shut my mouth. 

"I'm a Goddess, I can do whatever I want unless Zeus declares otherwise. And even then he doesn't always have complete control." She pauses. "I'm biased towards Persephone but I'm also overly protective of it. To bad Tolkien hasn't written his fantasy yet. Then you'd have a slew of names she's thank you for."

"You're here to give us name advice?" Diana asks. 

"Not really. I just wanted to bless her. You're currently my favourite immortal couple. Olympus is so boring these days. All the old, over and over again. But I've decided to stay and see what you name her in person." She lays her hands on the baby's head and it glowed slightly, making the wails stop. Aphrodite slips back into the shadows, giving us a semblance of privacy.

"What do you think Diana?" I ask, as my suggestions have proven inadequate.

After a moment's thought, she comes up with three names: Phaedra, Cosima, and Corisande.

Cosima seems like the simple choice, many fo the British upper class use it, but it's not overly common. But Corisande has a haunting, romantic feel: something I think Aphrodite would approve of. 

Later a nurse comes in asking for a name. We give her Corisande Morgause Trevor.

* * *

**Diana:**

In the early two-thousands, we've made it back to England. Corisande looks around, her blue eyes wide with amazement. When we'd left, she'd had the appearance of three-year-old, though much more intellectual.

"London has changed so much Mother!" She exclaims, her ten-year-old face lighting up.

Every two or three years we have to leave town and go somewhere anew, lest the neighbours notice how we don't age as fast. It's been nearly a century, but it seems as though only ten years have passed.

We roam around the streets, the layout Steve and I'd memorized no longer proving helpful, looking for a place to eat.

Steve and I walk on either side of Corisande, each of us holding one of her hands in a grip most children would have found too tight. But not ours. She's strong, I made sure of it. She's our only child, not for a lack of trying, so neither of us is letting anything happen to her. 

Somewhere we find a nice little pub with music flowing out the windows. It seems nice enough. Stepping inside, we can tell it's a duelling piano bar for there are two large pianos on a stage in the middle of the place.

A waitress comes and gives a seat next to the window, away from the bar part of the establishment. She places some crayons in frond of Corisande, having no way of knowing how mentally past them she is. Instantaneously she flips over the piece of paper containing maps and puzzles to black bottom and begins sketching a scene from _The Lord of the Rings_.

"A little prodigy?" The waitress asks. We nod, though it isn't true. She's spent over thirty years working on her sketching ability. It's not her natural forte. One of my power-suppressing bracelets sits around her wrist. Part mortal, she isn't as inclined to it as I am, but things do tend to break if she's not careful and the bracelet helps.

A man, calling himself Ivan Rosefsky, gets up and asks for a challenge. It seems he has been coming here for a long time and is boasting about being a professional pianist. A woman, Catalina Eloise Gardner, someone I'm sure I've seen on the telly before, accepts his challenge.

They duel the whole night, playing exotic, complicated pieces I've never heard before. Corisande follows along, whispering to us the names of pieces and how well the performers are playing them. 

Some supernatural force seemed to have made us put her into acting and music. Acting was slightly obvious, as she needs to pretend to be the age she looks, but music was more of a long shot. She prefers string interments above all but knows how to play all the classical ones.

The waitress comes back and we order.

Later that night, after a long meal and Carisande bring quite a few long-time professionals to their knees, she walks up to the player from before, Ivan and Catalina, who were now sharing a table. She bows then hands Ivan her collection of roses and forcefully making him give them to Catalina. She tells them she thinks they will be amazing parents and any child would be lucky and happy with them. And to stay away from certain streets of London in eleven years from now near New years, lest they meet an unfortunate end.

"What was that?" I ask when she comes back.

"I have an odd feeling about them, live we've met before in some other life." She replies before hugging me. I pull her close and keep her near for many seconds. "I love you, mom." She says unprompted." And you too dad." She leans over me to reach him."

"Also," she adds, sitting back down. "The Goddess of Love blessed my birth, I can see when a romance will go somewhere." She smirks and raises her glass.

* * *

_Spring 2018:_

My phone vibrates, indication a notification. I look down. Goodreads has updated the blog of an author I'm following. Carri Morgan's blog. They do it automatically, as she is not on there herself.

"Seriously?" I say to Corisande as I read the title. "You're trashing _The Greatest Showman_? I thought you liked it."

"I liked the soundtrack but it's historically inaccurate. So much so it could down history as historically inaccurate." She says from the kitchen where she sits by her laptop. "And that's one of the films I was asked to review as part of my release week review flash flood."

She's taken to blogging. About anything. She's done quite a few university courses online over the years, as she can't attend a normal school, and two years ago, she discovered she could blog anonymously and share her heightened knowledge with the world.

More recently, she wrote a book about Greek Mythology, Wonder Woman, and the world entitled _The Origins of_ _Heros_. There have been many such books published over the last few years, but her's is the most accurate, as she knows the Justice League perfectly. Of course, she can't prove it without giving away classified information, but that hasn't stopped her from sounding like the most legitimate author out there. She's self-published, as working with a publishing house would be problematic, but has been able to sell preorders quite nicely and has a large online following to help.

Steve comes through the door. 

"Daddy!" She exclaims happily, the ten-year-old side of her coming out. She runs to the door, which stills seems so far away as I'm still used to the small houses in England. We have now moved to Vancouver, but the neighbours are already getting suspicious though we've only resided here a year.

Corisande brings the bags in. We decided to eat supper from Amir today, as no had the desire to cook. Corisande's book comes out tomorrow and she is too nervous, Steve works full time even though we have a fortune, and Wonder Woman got hit by a train.

Corisande sits on the couch opposite me and pokes at her food. "I can't wait until I look fourteen." She says. "Then I'll look old enough to look too young to be pretending to get into nightclubs even though I'm an old nanny. Honestly, now I can't find a single person with grandparents older than me. Hopefully one day the world will be more adjusted to those stuck in time. I'm exploring the scientific side of it in the blogs when I'm not reviewing books and films, but the world is still so small-minded. It's infuriating."

I frown. "There's not much we can do about that." Steve brings me my meal and has a look at my bruised leg, then sits beside our daughter.

"Don't worry, one day you'll miss having to be stuck with us." He teases. "And it's a normal part of childhood."

"I have seven PhDs. That not normal, especially for someone who looks like they're ten. A one-hundred-year-old, no problem, but a ten-year-old is crazy."

"There's not much we can do," I repeat. "I know you're restless, but you have an amazing opportunity to watch the ages change. So many people would kill for that chance."

"I know but they change so slowly. Oh! Next time we move can we go to the territories? I bet they need some savings too and dad can get an easier job there because they need teachers and that sort of stuff. You guys are great teachers. Your whole student population has seven PhDs each." 

I chuckle. "Maybe, we'll think about it." I jump on one leg over to where they are sitting and we stare out the window at the harbour. Corisande rests her head on my shoulder.

"I promise I don't hate my life." She says. "You guys are awesome. Don't you dare leave me here alone." I kiss her head, then I kiss Steve. We've built a home, the three of us. And we will always fight for it. She does not need to worry. My father made sure we will both be here for her. I can't stop her from worrying, but I can make sure her worries never come true.

_THE END_


End file.
